Scales of Change
by Night Hawk 97
Summary: A brief foray through Harry Potter's life as it could have been, if he'd been just a little more opportunistic and less moralistic. Lo and behold, a small snake is enough of a catalyst. AU. No pairings.
1. Age: 6 and Harry is alone

Warnings: moderate language

Pairings: none

Words: 25000

Other: I am not going to spoon feed you every bit of information, but there will be explanations if you ask. Harry's age will be indicated in the chapter title. Updates will be dayly. The main plot covers first year, but the story will show all of his school years briefly.

**Disclaimer: Any lines you recognise come from Harry Potter and hence, are not my own.**

"English"

_"Parseltongue. Got it?"_

_…_

A young, black haired, green eyed, chronically scrawny and slightly morally ambiguous boy hid in the bushes beside the local park. The slight rocking back-and-forth motion and periodic scuffing his oversized trainers through the dirt betrayed his nerves, but for the most part he remained quite still. Remarkable, for a six year old, to be sure.

Perhaps it was the threat hanging over his head that motivated him so effectively. After all, the Freak knew it was _Very Wrong_ to steal, and he could probably predict the consequences with reasonable accuracy. A couple weeks in the cupboard, no food or toilet breaks, an even longer list of chores, the belt… the boy shivered.

As he sat there, he couldn't properly comprehend why his actions were so wrong, but if shade of puce his uncle had turned was any indication, it was smarter to wait a while for him to cool down than hang around to find out. He'd go back after a couple days.

The first person to tell him stealing was wrong was the friendly policeman at the school visit. Harry wanted to listen to the nice man, but he was also pretty sure the criminal negligence his relatives so generously bestowed upon him was wrong, yet no one had done anything about that. After a few years of being looked down upon for telling tales about the nice Dursleys, Harry learned not to bother. He'd developed into a forward-thinker, and while the inspections from the police brought a hilarious rushed cover-up and a few days respite in case the authorities returned, he learnt to avoid the things that only hurt him in the long run.

But who did stealing hurt? Certainly not Dudley or Vernon, the rats in the trash, maybe, but it's a dog-eat-dog world. Harry got to the scraps first, and so he got to eat. Really, the only part of stealing that hurt was getting caught. He'd have to work on it, practice makes perfect, and all that.

So maybe stealing wasn't wrong, adults were often silly and said stupid things. Especially fat, moustached, occasionally purple mammals who generally answer to 'Vernon' (but will also respond to 'shithead').

It made perfect sense. It was as easy to rationalise as the elementary maths his cousin still struggled with.


	2. Age: 7 and the snake is strange

After a year of pinching the leftover food before it was thrown away, Harry had become far more adept at the art, which was just as well, as he was being given less food than ever. It wasn't as if he _wanted_ to be a burden on his relatives, though he couldn't see how giving him at least a meal a day would seriously inconvenience them. It might even do them good; he was sure stomachs weren't supposed to bounce that way.

_"Stupid human, watch where you put those dog leavings, you lumbering, poop-tossing, over glorified primate!" _

The unexpected voice made the boy jump and glance around guiltily at the lonely landscape. Confused, his attention was soon turned back to the bin and the little brown snake that hid between the rubbish.

_"Er… hello?"_ He questioned, feeling rather stupid.

The snake froze. _"The poop-tosser speaks? That is unusual."_

Harry was too relieved to know he hadn't progressed to hearing voices to be too surprised over conversing with an animal. _"Of course. Do __**you**__ speak to people often?"_

The young grass snake made it to the top of the trash pile, tongue flickering madly_. "I speak at them, Poop-tosser, but they never respond."_ Its head tilted in what could have been interest, _"Maybe you are a sign that your species is finally evolving."_

_"Why do you call me that?"_ Harry huffed irritably.

_"Poop-tosser? Do not try to deceive me," _it eyed the plastic bag in his grip. _"I can smell that quite clearly. I know exactly what you tried to throw on me."_

Harry opened his mouth to argue, but decided that diplomacy could be healthier when dealing with a tetchy, fanged reptile. Even if it was only about a foot in length.

_"I'm sorry, I didn't know you were there. But Poop-tosser is so long and hard to say, why don't you call me Harry?"_

_"Obviously your speech is not as evolved as I thought. Can you manage Poop? Or Tosser? Both carry the sentiment."_

Sensing a compromise, Harry quickly offered, _"How about P.T.?"_

The snake bobbed its head in what Harry assumed was the equivalent of rolling its eyes. _"Fine, human."_

_"Do you have a name?" _

_"Why would I?"_

_"Everyone needs a name." _That he knew personally.

_"I have heard of your species' overwhelming need to name things. Snakes are more evolved. But I suppose I cannot blame you for your species' inherent faults, Speaker, call me whatever you wish."_

_"Do you like the sound of Ben?"_

_"It that a name for males?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Wrong."_

Harry blushed faintly,_ "Sorry, do you like Sasha?"_

_"Whatever suits the purpose."_

The snakes tone was mild, even bored, but Harry got the feeling she was pleased._ "Hey, Sasha? Would you like to see my house?"_

_"Will there be frogs?"_

_"Probably."_

_"Don't delay, what are you waiting for, lazy human!"_


	3. Age: 8 and wizards find out

To many an observer in that shopping centre, a young boy seemed to be dragging his feet behind a rather mulish lady and muttering under his breath. Those would usually be the last thoughts the observer would dedicate to him, returning instead to frozen peas or the like.

But not Dedalus Diggle. Diggle almost missed it, as the boy was dressed in the strange muggle fashion he never could understand, but when the boy's head turned up briefly in the process of rolling his eyes, he spotted that distinctive scar.

Harry jumped when his name was bellowed out by a squeaky voice in the middle of the frozen goods aisle. He whirled around to face a short, beaming man who waddled over at such alarming speed that he almost knocked off his top hat.

Harry had scarcely enough time to drop his jaw in surprise before he was upon them.

"_Harry Potter!_ Oh my goodness, it really is _such_ an honour. My word, I barely recognised you, you've grown so much– AIEGH!"

The strange, hat-topped man had taken it upon himself to vigorously shake Harry's hand. Little did he know that in doing so he had rudely jostled a fierce, albeit nonvenomous, snake. Said snake had removed itself from around the boy's neck and shot down his sleeve until she was curled around his wrist, spitting her usual vitriol of insults.

_"Hands off my human, you nasty, squirrel-brained, clammy, growth-topped, purple pumpkin!"_

Although it would've been vastly inappropriate for the situation, Harry almost giggled when the suddenly very pale man reversed direction so quickly he fell over.

Petunia's wide eyes flicked between the stranger, Harry and the snake. Her face adopted the pinched expression she got whenever Sasha came out to play, but Harry was curious to note that in this instance she seemed more afraid of the stranger.

"We're leaving. Now, boy," She hissed out in a very Sasha-like manner. She almost grabbed his arm to bodily enforce his compliance, but thought better of it.

All left the shop and the white faced man immediately shot off in the opposite direction. Harry's only friend settled herself back around her human's shoulders, and he hissed a quiet thanks.

_…_

Mrs Figg invited herself over for tea.

Harry figured that at some stage she must've seen Sasha, because she gave the indignant Mrs Dursley quite a talking to for letting her nephew play with such a dangerous animal.

Sasha preened at the description.

After several minutes of half-heartedly trying to alleviate the elder lady's concerns, Petunia snapped.

"You think we want that disgusting creature in our house?!" Harry was unsure of to whom she was referring.

Her next sentence cleared the matter. "That boy refuses to get rid of it!"

Oh, they'd tried, alright, Harry remembered bitterly. The first time they'd seen Sasha, Vernon diverted to a puce colouration (the extreme variety), Petunia had shrieked and Dudley had cried. They'd tried to force him to boil her, but only got bitten for their efforts. Since then, Harry Hunting had lost most of its neighbourhood appeal, Vernon's flailing fists didn't stray too far and Petunia no longer protested as much when Harry took the liberty to eat. Overall, the little snake was the best thing that had ever happened to Harry.

Harry watched Mrs Figg march away through the crack in his cupboard. Her face was ashen, her hair askew and her cardigan on backwards. He thought her obvious fear was a little excessive for one little snake, but he was called to make dinner and thought no more of it.


	4. Age: 9 and Ripper barks

Harry hated Marge, who he ardently denied any relation to. But not to the extent Sasha hated Ripper, the prize bulldog.

Harry had stepped on the dog's paw – a complete accident, mind you – and in thanks the beast had chased him up a tree. The Dursleys were delighted and betrayed no intention to help, so Harry got comfortable. He figured it could be worse.

They'd been there for a few hours already. It was getting dark and cold, but Harry was kept entertained by the snake's constant stream of insults, all of which seemed to incense the dog further.

Sasha grew bored with the dog a few hours after dark and instead began plotting revenge on the Dursleys.

_"I could strangle them with their spleens?"_ Snakes, as it turns out, have long memories and are capable of carrying grudges for an indefinite period of time.

_"That lets them off easy. If we poison them, paint them grey and donate them to a park so they can be crapped on by pigeons all day, they'd endure for a while."_

_"Lock them in a room with the nasty lady's cats and wait for them to go insane and then convince them it is their life dream to stuff sausages."_

_"Write to a gossip magazine saying that Aunt Petunia is wearing a dress from last season."_

_"Oh, P.T., you sadist!"_

Harry thought that Ripper was called off around midnight, after the neighbours objected to the dog's constant noise, but he didn't mind. He carried Sasha back to his cupboard with a huge smile on his face. The Dursleys were so disappointed, and that was near perfect revenge. Well, for the moment, anyway. Maybe he'd fake a gossip column if he had the time.


	5. Age: 10 and it is so not his fault

Dudley's eleventh birthday party was at the Zoo. The person Harry had to thank for him leaving the little suburb of Surry for the first time was actually his babysitter, Mrs Figg, who'd considerately broken her leg at the last minute. He felt childishly unsympathetic, but she'd been most unkind to Sasha.

The car ride was eventful. Dudley and his friend –Harry never bothered to distinguish between the goons– huddled as far away from Sasha as possible. Harry impulsively mentioned his dream about a flying motorbike and was not disappointed by Vernon's spectacular reaction.

Concerned, yes, but not disappointed.

Sasha was thrilled with the animals, and she was particularly keen on the amphibian exhibit. Harry could feel her quivering with excitement. This wouldn't have been a problem years ago, when she was still no thicker than his finger, but the snake had grown steadily and was now considerably stronger and had more than doubled in size. She also still preferred coiling around his neck.

The foxes proved the most hazardous to his health, and he had to discretely pry the muscular body of the fearful snake loose while hoarsely whispering promises of valiant protection should the creature escape.

He was still hissing under his breath at her to loosen her grip when he absently followed his relatives into the reptile house. That got _everything's_ attention. He blushed under all the unblinking gazes that fixed on him, muttered a quiet _"Hello" _and shuffled further in, towards the snakes who'd not witnessed his entrance.

Sasha's wheezing laughter sounded near his ear and he was tempted to poke her.

Trailing behind Dudley, Harry noted with annoyance how vulgar his cousin was being, slamming on the glass for attention.

_"I'm sorry about him,"_ Harry muttered to the boa constrictor, his cousin's latest victim, _"He's an uncouth hooligan who is the hatchling of a walrus and a grapefruit." _Harry didn't know exactly what that meant in snake society, but it was one of Sasha's favourite phrases, so he assumed it was very mean.

The huge snake laughed its appreciation, but whether it was laughing with him or at him, Harry couldn't tell.

_"Do not worry, Speaker, I get that all the time."_

Harry felt a twinge of sadness as he read the 'bred in captivity' sign. _"You've never been anywhere else? I am very sorry, friend."_

_"As am I." _

For once, Sasha was in the mood to stay politely silent.

"Dudley! Mr Dursley! Come and look at this snake! You won't _believe_ what it's doing!"

Harry abruptly found himself on the floor, a hand nursing his ribs. He glared at Dudley and Piers (Prius? Percy? Whatever). Both had their piggy faces squished against the glass.

The next moment, Harry's eyes widened in surprise, which was hardly a remarkable reaction, seeing as the glass had randomly disappeared. Dudley, the minion and the constrictor also noticed this anomaly. The former two very vocally announced it while the latter simply left, nipping at Dudley's ankles when he didn't move fast enough.

_"Brazil, here I come. Thanks, amigo."_

Harry's smile was bewildered but nonetheless pleased._ "You're most welcome. Enjoy the tropics."_

As more and more people became aware that one of the largest snakes in the world had gotten loose, pandemonium ensued. Sasha was in utter hysterics.

Harry just knew that somehow the Dursleys would find a way for it to be _his_ fault.


	6. Age: 11 and something makes sense

"Harry – yer a wizard."

The boy in question froze, then discreetly exchanged _a Look_ with Sasha.

"Well, that explains a lot."


	7. Age: 11 and the boy is a rodent

Harry was exhausted. Keeping Sasha calm and hidden while being harassed on all sides because of his supposed fame was certainly taxing, and doing so on top of trying to look at everything at once took remarkable skill.

After everything he'd been put through, it was no surprise that, unlike most boys his age, he gratefully stumbled into the quiet robe shop.

Madam Malkin appeared before he could properly collect himself.

_'Oh, dear god, not another one!'_ Harry thought frantically.

"Hogwarts, dear? Got the lot here – another young man being fitted up just now, in fact."

Harry was made to stand on a footstool beside and blond, pointy boy that Sasha described as very rodent-like. Harry was just relieved there was someone his age and not another insane adult.

"Hello, Hogwarts too?" Asked the boy.

"Yes," Harry muttered distractedly, taking advantage of the moment when the adults turned their backs to quickly remove Sasha from his clothing and hide her in a bag before Malkin came back with pins. _That_ wouldn't have ended well.

The boy caught a glimpse of Harry's companion, but to his relief appeared more interested than afraid.

"What's your name?"

Harry winced and braced himself, "Harry Potter."

To his immense relief the kid did not descend into a mess of fan boy. Harry liked him immediately.

"You, Dark-Lord-Destroyer-Extraordinaire, have a snake?" The boy's tone was incredulous, but Harry wasn't focused on that.

"Oh, Hagrid mentioned something about that."

"Why were you with _him_?"

"He works at Hogwarts. He came to tell me last night that I'm a wizard."

"What?!" The boy completely lost his composure, "You didn't know?"

Harry was startled by the enraged reaction. "I didn't. I suppose I should've suspected. In hindsight it is rather obvious, considering how fervently my relatives denied it."

That may have been the wrong thing to say. The boy's grey eyes flashed and took on a steely appearance, making the small boy appear far fiercer, and his suddenly mellow voice only added to the effect.

"My name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy. My father's currently buying my books and my mother is waiting in the wand shop. I would like you to meet them, I believe Father would be able to direct you to information that could assist you."

Harry, feeling very out of his depth, hadn't considered that, and was immediately relieved.

_…_

Harry said goodbye to a suddenly blustering and worried Hagrid, who'd decided it was his duty to go along with Harry to meet the elder Malfoys. Harry spent the next ten minutes trying to convince the huge man that he would be fine, and eventually he succeeded.

"Alright, I'll meet yeh here at 5 to take yer home."

Harry was confused, "Home? I'm _not_ going back to the Dursleys."

"Yeh have to, Harry, they're still yer guardians."

Harry made a show of giving in to placate the man, but his mind was turning and Sasha was already whispering escape ideas. He had money now, how hard could it be?

Mr Malfoy exited the bookshop at that moment, tucking a shrunken package into a pocket as he did so. He took in the black haired boy, the retreating groundskeeper – who levelled him with a squinty glare – and his son. He waited for an explanation with a pointedly raised eyebrow.

Sasha was impressed. _"It is powerful, P.T., play this right and I'll bet my last toad it can get us out of there."_

"Hello, Father. I would like to introduce you to Harry Potter. His guardians –" his nose scrunched unpleasantly at this, "– neglected to tell him about his heritage and he is woefully uneducated about our world."

The blond man's face betrayed no emotion. "You did well to bring this to my attention, Draco. Would you come to lunch with me, Mr Potter, so we might sort this business out?"

"I would like that, sir."

_…_

Lunch with the Malfoys was more nerve wracking than pleasant, and Harry had a hard time stumbling his way around how to use all the cutlery. The Malfoys didn't seem to mind, especially after Draco explained about how Harry was _forced_ to live with muggles ("how ghastly!").

"What is living with _them_ like?" Mrs Malfoy asked. Harry liked her, she was seemed cold but he suspected she was kind.

Harry noted that the Malfoys did not seem to be very fond of muggles, but were making an effort to stay polite in consideration of his feelings. As Sasha pointed out; he could use that.

"Oh, it's not so bad now. I mean, Sasha –my snake, that is– bites them when they try to hit me and I get a meal _at least_ every couple of days," Harry widened his eyes innocently and discreetly poked Sasha when she sniggered a contemptuous, _"Don't overdo it"._

Mrs Malfoy was politely horrified, Draco stewed angrily but Mr Malfoy, to Harry chagrin, seemed to catch on immediately to what he was doing. To his surprise, the elder Malfoy was not angry with his clumsy attempts at manipulation, but rather amused, even pleased.

"Mr Potter, the wizarding world would be outraged to hear of this. If they could find evidence of child abuse, you would likely become a ward of the Ministry until you could be emancipated at fifteen." Mr Malfoy's eyes glittered at the prospect.

Harry's eyes widened, he'd never considered himself a victim of abuse. Although, he figured that Dudley used to beat him, and the others made him think his name was Freak until he started first grade, locked him in a closet, denied him basic human rights and he forced him to act as their personal slave…

"The Family and Management section of the Ministry are bound to secrecy about these things," Mr Malfoy continued persuasively. "Cases may be swept under the rug, but your fame should counteract this. I work at the Ministry, I could easily pass them my concerns."

_"I sense revenge, little human. A public thrashing would be no less than what they deserved," _the brown snake muttered ominously.

A little uncomfortable, as always, with the snake's… enthusiasm, Harry smiled shakily. "Actually, Mr Malfoy, is there a wizarding newspaper I could get in contact with?"

"So long as you do not mind significantly increased sympathy from your fans." Mr Malfoy's answering smirk was vicious.

Yes, that would be a drawback, but a bearable one. Especially if Harry was a widely loved as he was beginning to suspect.


	8. Age: 11 and his life is his own

Harry remembered the remainder of the trip to Diagon Alley fondly. He purchased all his school equipment, and went back into Madam Malkin's under Mrs Malfoy's well-meaning but pointedly stinging comments about his attire.

The wand shop was a little weird, and Ollivander pulled him aside to tell him something about his holly and phoenix feather wand, but Harry didn't catch most of it. He was concentrating on trying not to blush while Sasha hissed vulgar euphemisms about wands in his ear.

Honestly, where did a reptile learn such things?

Harry got his revenge later when purchasing a bird. The snowy owl, that he later named Hedwig, was the prettiest – and according to Sasha, the snootiest – bird he'd ever seen.

Hedwig got plenty of exercise in the following weeks flying between Harry and Draco for the rest of the summer. Draco became Harry's go-to source of information when he needed questions answered.

The Dursleys weren't pleased when Hagrid returned Harry (shared sentiment, most assuredly) and tried to lock Harry's new things in the cupboard. Harry put an end to that. When imitating a pig and looking menacingly at Dudley wasn't enough, brandishing a live snake at his relatives did the trick.

_…_

_Dear Harry,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. Mother went through the family tapestries yesterday and made the list of relatives you asked for. As it turns out, your Grandmother, Dorea Potter née Black, was my Mother's great aunt, so we're distantly related. Sorry, we don't have any pictures, but Mother says Professor Snape might have some of your mother. He is the head of Slytherin House. Have you read the chapter on the Founders from 'Great Mages of History' yet?_

_Mother is also attaching a book that will teach you how to write properly with a quill. She says your handwriting is atrocious. I'm not sure what that means, exactly, but I can guess._

_Regards,_

_Draco Malfoy_

_…_

_Draco,_

_Please thank Mrs Malfoy for the book, it was very helpful._

_I've read the chapter, it was very interesting. They say Salazar Slytherin was a parselmouth. What is that, exactly? _

_Harry_

_…_

_Harry,_

_Parseltongue, spoken by a parselmouth, is a rare blood trait that allows the person to talk to serpents. _

_Father has finished drafting the article and it sounds spectacular. There will likely be a public riot when this gets out, and there sort of already has been. When Family and Management couldn't get your address from Dumbledore, they went to the Minister and he saw to it personally. _

_I hear they're sending a team of investigators and aurors (they're in charge of law enforcement) as well as healers. They'll prove your claims and we'll get around to causing this uproar._

_Brace yourself,_

_Draco_

_…_

_Draco,_

_You didn't tell me the healers would prod me for four hours! All for the final verdict of 'malnourished'. Now I have a potions regime to get back where I should be. Do they always taste so disgusting? _

_The healer had to be restrained by the aurors when she finished testing me. The aurors weren't quick enough to hold her back when they found my cupboard, though I suspect that wasn't an accident. My Aunt ended up covered in boils that took a suspiciously long time to remove. Somehow, I think the healer is a fan. _

_They're starting the process of freeing me immediately. Apparently it involves a lot of paperwork but I should be out officially by November. _

_Harry_

_…_

_Harry,_

_My father heard that the healer was quietly congratulated for that. _

_Potions always taste gross. When the main ingredients are bat innards, powdered slug or something similar, it's a requirement. _

_Here is the final draft of the article. Approve it or edit it some more and we'll do the rest. If all goes well it will be revealed once we've left for Hogwarts. _

_Draco_

…

The article was lengthy and filled with political manoeuvring Harry knew he couldn't even hope to understand. Most of it was dedicated to his condition, making special emphasis on the malnourishment, work, living conditions of ten years, and the miss-set bones as a result of Harry Hunting.

It would help the Malfoys public standing to be seen helping the Boy-who-lived, even if the article didn't openly praise them. Harry wasn't sure he liked being used for political gain, but he was glad the Malfoys got something in return. It wasn't as if there was much else he could do to repay them.

Draco had explained how muggle sympathisers would be a problem, particularly because the Malfoys were mentioned for their part, so Draco's father was very careful to avoid being openly judgemental. But it would still make people draw that negative generalised conclusion by themselves.

Harry knew he should've minded, after all, not all muggles could possibly be as bad as the Dursleys, and it was frankly insulting to group them together. But then Harry remembered the teachers, the police, the neighbours, the cat lady; everyone who he had asked to help him, and not one who had.

Maybe not all muggles were as horrible as the Dursleys, but as Sasha rightly pointed out, Harry had never met any proof of that.

Sasha was always saying that he needed to act more like a predator and learn to strike at an opportunity, to take a stand for his own interests. Hogwarts… it was a new chance in more ways than one. He would no longer get punished for getting higher marks than Dudders, he had a different reputation entirely, he even had friends. He didn't have to accept the world's obviously flawed expectations, just like he didn't have to try to take any bullying with an unfaltering pliancy any longer.

Snakes embodied patience. Patience, retaliation and a strike-first policy. Admittedly, they're probably not the best role models for young boys. Too bad it was the best way he could see to shrug off the last remnants of Freak.

With new resolve, and no better place to start than the present, Harry made his decision.

_…_

_Draco,_

_It's perfect. The Ministry is making arrangements to get me to the platform so I'll see you on the train. You'd better not be lying about the barrier. If you make me run into a solid wall in the middle of a busy station I'm afraid will be forced to have my revenge._

_Harry _


	9. Age: 11 and there are snakes on a train

"Are you really Harry Potter?" The redhead sharing his compartment asked.

_"I don't like him, he sounds defective. Shut him up before I take drastic action."_

"Yes," Harry responded, ignoring Sasha being her usual spiteful self. He was soon forced to cleverly manoeuver his sleeve to prevent the snake fulfilling her promise.

Distracted, Harry missed the other boy's next words and looked up to see him excitedly pointing at his forehead.

Thankfully Sasha filled him in. _"He wants to see your scar. The flamboyant vegetable is even ruder that you were before I raised you, P.T."_

Harry couldn't help but agree, though he did reluctantly raise his fringe. No use making enemies, after all.

_"Do I smell a rat? I do, a strange one, but he is still a rodent consorter!"_

"Do you have a rat on you?" Harry asked.

Ron looked confused and began to remove the fat grey rodent in question from his robes, "How'd you know?"

Harry felt Sasha tense and double checked to ensure she couldn't get at it. "My owl is getting excited, you should probably put it away."

Harry sent a guilty look to meet Hedwig's reproachful gaze.

_…_

Harry was distracted. Draco had agreed to find him, but the train had left the station and there was still no blond in sight.

Ron was talking about Quidditch. Harry remember a little about that from Draco's brief introduction to the wizarding world, but didn't follow a team. Still, it seemed to be an interesting sport.

The compartment door slid open. "Hello, Draco," Harry beamed.

Their reunion was interrupted by Ron, who sniggered, probably at Draco's name. Harry was immediately defensive.

"Don't be rude."

Ron turned pink, "He's a _Malfoy_."

Harry's eyes narrowed, "He's my friend. And you're a Weasley. So what?"

"Malfoys aren't in mass production, we're more exclusive," Draco put in helpfully, seemingly enjoying himself.

Ron made to reply, but when Harry hadn't been paying attention, Sasha had escaped the confines of his robes and chose that moment to literally take off.

_"Yummy!"_ Due to Harry's reflexes, he caught the little snake mid-jump. She wouldn't have made the distance anyway, but it was a good effort, and Harry had to lunge forward quite a way to catch her before she could collide with the redhead's shins.

Ron all but fainted. He cleared the compartment on very shaky legs. Harry felt a little guilty, though Sasha was evidently pleased.

Draco laughed and sprawled beside Harry, somehow managing to pull the action off elegantly. "That is one very beautiful snake."

Said snake immediately twisted her way out of Harry's grip and made her way over to Draco.

_"Yes, I'm very pretty, look how my scales shine!"_

Draco looked a little nervous; Harry was quick to allay his fears. "She won't hurt you. Actually, I've never heard her react so positively to someone."

Draco looked up sharply, "You understand her?"

Harry realised what he'd said and could've hit himself. Denial was pointless. He sighed, "I'm a parselmouth."

Draco looked into his hands where the snake was convulsing. "What's happening?!"

Harry glared at his companion. "She's laughing at me. Apparently I'm as stupid as a kitten's fur ball, and just as attractive. Nice to know this event hasn't changed her opinion of me at all."

"Seriously?"

"Mhmm, you've got the skin of a downy owlet and I'm still a poop tosser," Harry considered the snake for a moment. _"I can still feed you to Hedwig. She'd be happy to oblige. I bet you'd just taste like mouse to her. She mightn't even suffer indigestion."_

"What'd you say?"

"Huh?" Harry was confused.

"When you spoke pareltongue," Draco rolled his eyes. "Translate please."

"I actually speak _like_ a snake without even knowing it? Huh, that explains the funny looks we get in public."

"You should be careful," Draco said, suddenly serious. "Parselmouths used to be revered members of our society. They tend to be gifted healers, my great-great cousin was one. Now, though, snakes have become pariahs and parselmagic a sign of an evil wizard. Great lines of exceptional purebloods have been wiped out because of it."

Harry scoffed, "That's ridiculous. No one would complain if I could speak whale. On a fundamental level, snakes are just animals. What happened?"

"Hogwarts was seen by the mudbloods as an open invitation into our world. They brought their beliefs and fears, and muggle loving fools let them change everything. Even long standing traditions, like using the Rod of Asclepius as the symbol for healing, were overridden because the snakes were seen as counterintuitive. St. Mungo's is represented by a wand and bone now."

Draco's fingers caught the scales under Sasha's chin. That was weird; he'd never heard a snake _purr_ before.

"Draco, Sasha wants to know if she can stay with you for a while. Actually, it wasn't a question, more of an advanced notice."


	10. Age: 11 and there is change

"Mr Potter."

"Yes?" Harry turned away from his discussion with Draco to face Professor McGonagall, who'd just finished welcoming the first years to Hogwarts. She didn't look pleased and Harry wondered what he'd done to get on her bad side already.

"Mr Weasley says you have a snake with you."

Ah, that. For once, he was grateful to the Dursleys for giving him so much practice at lying. Harry looked politely bewildered. "No, I don't."

He didn't. Draco did, but that was beside the point.

McGonagall raised an eyebrow and her wand, "_Serpens Revelio_."

Harry glowed sightly red.

"I apologise, Mr Potter. Mr Weasely, you were mistaken."

Ron, the poor guy, shot Harry a confused look. Harry shrugged apologetically, but he was mainly just relieved at his luck.

_…_

Sasha got antsy not long into the beginning of the sorting. It wasn't very easy to transfer the snake back onto Harry, but her squirming was making Draco nervous. They had to hold hands. _Awkward_.

When asked, Sasha denied missing Harry, instead citing Draco's inability to laugh at her insults as reason enough to ditch him. Harry smirked, and was called a rotten horse-spawn.

_…_

Harry felt decidedly uncomfortable sitting before the hall, unable to see what was going on, while his ears were filled with their excited whispers.

_"Is it really…?"_

_"Harry Potter!"_

_"… smaller than I expected."_

_What_, exactly, were they expecting? Hercules? Harry glared, but since it was into the fabric of the hat, the effect was disappointing.

Harry desperately hoped for it to be over already, to just go wherever he belonged and be done with it. The hat wasn't on his head very long at all.

"SLYTHERIN!"

The hall was blessedly silent at last, Harry didn't mind that he only got a splattering of shocked applause. They would forget or they'd eventually get over themselves and accept that Harry was his own person. Really, he was just a quiet little guy made cunning by his childhood, with a snarky snake and a resolution not to play at being heroism personified.

_"You will take me around to your classes, human. My scales compliment your uniform very well."_

_"Of course, but try not to cause any trouble. 'Live snake' would make a fashion statement I don't think we're ready for."_

The teachers only heard what they perceived to be the whispered petulant mutterings of a young boy. That was what they expected, after all.

Lord Voldemort certainly wasn't expecting to hear the slight raspy sounds of parseltongue in the resonating silence, but after dedicated decades of study, he couldn't miss it.


	11. Age: 11 and it's a long first week

_"Sasha, why do you suppose we're not allowed on the third floor?"_

_"How should I know? Smells like dog, though. A lot of dog. Strange, maybe we could take just a quick look?"_

_…_

"Potter, a word. Now," Severus Snape loomed over Harry and Draco at breakfast, looking far more menacing than is appropriate for eight on a Wednesday morning.

Harry got up quickly to follow Snape and his impressively billowing robes from the Hall. Nervous, he wiped his sweaty palms on his robes. Snape had never spoken to him; he seemed to take Harry's house placement harder than anyone bar McGonagall and appeared to be denying the boys existence.

Something Big must've happened to interrupt that coping process. Harry spotted a crumpled newspaper in Snape's clenched fist and thought he may have had a fair idea.

Snape stopped abruptly in a vacant classroom, brandishing the newspaper.

"Is this true?" His voice was cold and deadly quiet. Harry fought the urge to confess his every (numerous) sin.

"It is," he confirmed carefully, getting the feeling he was facing a cornered animal.

"Why did you go to the press? Wasn't your fame enough for you?"

Sasha glowered,_ "Want me to bite him?"_

But in Harry's mind, understanding dawned; he hadn't considered that perception. He met Snape's eyes squarely, "I wanted out. The story reached the muggle news a few days ago. The Dursleys can no longer show their highly self-valued faces. This just saves my time, since I don't have to go back to get even."

The professor was quiet for a long time. "I had wondered why you were in Slytherin. Come to my office after classes, I will lend you a book that is usually recommended to muggleborns to explain the basics of potions brewing. I do not waste valuable practical time spoon feeding dunderheads too lazy to read; you will not be memorising ingredient properties in my lessons. I suggest you read ahead to chapter seven before Friday."

Harry figured that was probably the surest sign of approval he'd ever get form the Potions Master, and he smiled.

_…_

"I-interesting revenge, Mr P-P-Potter."

"Do you disapprove, sir?"

"I-it's not what I w-would've d-done, but I-I don't h-have to wait s-s-seven years to c-curse th-them legally, d-do I?"

Sasha laughed, singing praises to the Defence teacher that caused Harry to nearly forget himself and roll his eyes.

_…_

"Harry, my boy, please take a seat."

Harry did so, wondering if the headmaster always acted so familiar with his students. He kept a wary eye on the young red bird. It was looking at his pocket intently.

"Ah, Fawkes. He is a phoenix, Harry. Remarkable creatures, phoenixes."

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Harry reminded him.

"Yes." He stroked his bread, sounding saddened and displeased, "I'm very sorry to hear about your home life, my boy. I hate to see a family break apart."

Harry shifted uncomfortably, but he didn't know what he was expected to say, so he remained silent. Dumbledore leaned forward gravely.

"I admit I am concerned. There are many people, even those who would appear to be friends, who would choose to hurt you for ending Voldemort's tyranny. I implore you to see reason, Harry, I understand that you would like to be part of this new world you've discovered, but healthy family relationships are important. Rejecting the family that has raised you is no way to impress people and make true friends."

"I appreciate your advice."

"Excellent. I'm sure you can patch things up and all will be well–"

"You misunderstand me, sir, I'm not going back. I did not _exaggerate_ the situation with the Dursleys, just to fit in with the purebloods. Ideally, I wouldn't want to believe it possible to treat someone the way they did me, either, but I won't blind myself. We were a disaster waiting to happen."


	12. Age: 11 and Malfoys make sense

Flying was an _utter_ disaster.

The school brooms were just about falling to pieces. One Gryffindor boy couldn't control his and ended up breaking a wrist, while another girl couldn't get off the ground without being bucked off and left in tears.

Most of the Slytherins were fine, but mainly because they had enough experience to wrangle the beasts in line. Harry, apparently, was just awesome. Hooch strongly recommended he pursue Quidditch at a later date.

It wasn't always immediately apparent, since the Malfoys demanded a certain level of cultured refinement, but Draco was a hard-core Quidditch enthusiast. He certainly believed he was good enough to make the Quidditch team in a couple years. In a display of the trademark Malfoy arrogance that had Harry grinning in bemusement, Draco wanted to be the most important person in the team, the Seeker, and seemed to have gotten it into his head that Harry would be trying out also.

Harry had never gotten the opportunity to play sports, but he had fantastic reflexes and Draco decided that with a bit of practice he'd make a very decent Chaser or even Keeper. Harry was prescribed several books and a training timetable, which he suffered gladly.

They'd get permission from Snape to use the school brooms three afternoons a week. Harry was a little leery of this plan, but as Draco pointed out; if he learned to catch a Quaffle on one of the school brooms, he'd be able to play Quidditch with his eyes closed in no time at all.

_…_

"Draco, why do you hate Granger so much?"

Harry had been pondering the question for a while, since the second day, in fact. At first Harry thought it was because Granger had muggle parents, but it was soon apparent that Draco saw most muggleborns as simply unworthy of his attention.

Draco scowled at the bushy brown hair visible in the crowded hallway. "I can't stand her type."

"Type?" Harry hadn't expected that.

"Know-it-all. They're insufferable. They come into our culture and think it's enough for them to be able to pick up a wand and produce some pretty sparks. There's more to magic than that. Girls like Granger will never understand because to them it's all vocabulary lists, definitions, and effect. My father says that people like her are little better than muggles waving sticks. I can't wait until Potions, Snape will eat her alive."

Harry considered for a moment. Draco's reasoning made sense, and for the first time his irritation seemed rational. From what Harry had observed, the muggleborns were attached to their loving families and technology rich life, while the 'other world' was almost like a fantasy. They were invaders, never really adapting or accepting the culture. It was in every little reaction, a constant presence and reminder. The quills, the handwritten books, the owls; they reacted with excitement to the strange new things, but it was underlined with condescension due to the belief that this apparently underdeveloped world wasn't as advanced as theirs.

On an unrelated note, if he heard the words "my" and "father" in conjunction _once_ more this week, he was going to develop a nervous tic in response.

"Can you teach me to be more than a stick-waving muggle?"

Draco snorted, "Of course, I'd accept no less."


	13. Age: 11 and Harry is suspicious

_"I'm not lost. We're exploring,"_ Harry muttered, looking for something that might indicate where in Hogwarts he was.

_"Does your spontaneous exploring usually involve wandering as aimlessly as a stuffed pigeon?"_ Sasha wasn't helping.

"– the situation with the beast?" A cold voice rasped. Harry and co froze. Apparently he wasn't the only person wandering the corridors.

The voice barely reached Harry's ears, but he could perceive the underlying steel in the voice of the speaker. "It should not be a problem."

Hearing footsteps approaching the door, Harry quickly retreated back down the hallway and ducked into the shadows.

A figure stormed past, luckily too intent on his destination to notice the small boy. Harry was a little surprised to recognise the turbaned head of Professor Quirrel. He hadn't heard him speak.

Harry waited over ten minutes for the two speakers to leave the room so he could find his way to his dormitory. No one did, and eventually, after listening carefully, Harry's curiosity won out. He peered around the doorway, but the room was empty.

Harry was confused; even if the two voices were only a result of Quirrel talking to himself, neither had a stutter. Immediately after the confusion, he was suspicious. Strange indeed.

_…_

"Try step one again: cast the levitation charm. Now, what did you feel?"

Harry just blinked and Draco sighed exasperatedly. He was trying to help his friend identify his magic, and he was beginning to think it an impossible mission. Because most purebloods learned to access the connection from the moment they could talk, Draco couldn't remember what it felt like to _not_ be connected with magic, and yet he had to describe the difference to a person who did more thinking and less feeling than the average two-year-old.

They couldn't just crack open a book either. The process wasn't written down frequently, since most people who wanted to establish the connection had parents with the knowhow anyway. Harry, quite sourly, thought it was a little stupid. Muggleborns often didn't want to take on wizarding traditions, but the purebloods seemed to assume that the children of muggles were aware of everything they were missing out on. It was a crucial, maybe intentional, oversight.

"What am I looking for, again?" Harry rubbed his eyes tiredly. They'd been at it for hours.

Draco huffed impatiently, "Your magical core. The feeling inside you, it flows through every vein."

Draco cast his mind back, yet again, and tried to pick up some detail that may be useful. "There is an… energy well? The feeling is more prominent when you tap into the source. Sort of like, after a really decent sleep, you feel very alive and, um… invigorated?"

_Energy._ That was a new word. Harry could work with that description. Hopefully it was the right one, unlike the last hundred they'd tried.

Harry re-acquainted himself with the memory of the slides in the park, the feeling of static electricity dancing over his skin. Then he began the process of looking for something similar, only 'inside' himself.

Harry cast the spell, and thought he felt a little something like electricity. Focusing on his body and mind, he traced the feeling back to the source. Without his attention to maintain it, the spell ended. The lead was dissipating, and Harry desperately lunged onward.

It wasn't much like static at all. Rather, effective immediately, it felt as if he'd stuck his finger in an electric socket.

Harry choked back a gasp and shuddered. He was vaguely aware of his muscles twitching, but the weird, borderline painful tingling sensation kept the focus of his attention. Suddenly he understood Draco's strange descriptions. With each beat of his heart, his blood carried the tingling sensation further through his body, but it didn't end there. He was aware of Draco sitting beside him, Sasha exploring the mantelpiece, and, to a lesser extent, even the polished wood beneath them. It was like opening his eyes for the first time.

"Did it work?" Draco asked anxiously, his expression a contorted mess between hopeful and concerned.

"I-I think so."

"Try a spell," he demanded.

"_Wingardium leviosa_." Again, Harry was astounded by the sensory response. The magic was waiting and ready, it rushed like a torrent out his fingertips and into his wand, which felt alive his hand. The spell was easier now that Harry was able to tell what was happening and could correct his mistakes. In comparison, his spell casting before was like trying to draw a picture in the dark.

"We did it," Harry breathed.

Draco grinned, "Finally."

"You owe me answers," Harry reminded.

"Right. When you're young and your magic is developing, accidental magic is a result of extreme emotion, which causes your magic to lash out and influence the magic in the surroundings. Technically, that makes it a Dark, and the strictly Light bureaucrats would ban it if they could, but let's not go into that now. Wandless magic is similar, but pure Dark; it involves intentional access to your magical core and extreme mental and emotional discipline to make the intention actually useful. The older you get, the harder it is to learn, but the younger you are, the harder the mental aspect is to accomplish."

"That doesn't sound so bad."

"It's probably ten times harder than what you just did. Not impossible, sure, but also highly illegal," Draco said dryly.

Harry was confused. "What? Why?"

"Politics. The Light have been in power too long, they are based on control. If the Law Enforcement can't regulate something, say, with a registered wand… well, you get the point."

"How do bills like that get passed? There must be opposition."

"Not as much as you'd think. Out of ten people, one would be a mudblood, four would be half-bloods, another one would be a muggle-lover, two would be politically neutral; only the remaining two are traditionalists. We're the minority; muggleborns, halfbloods and muggle-lovers don't want their kind to be disadvantaged, hence underage restrictions and all that rot."

It sounded as if Draco was reciting a speech he'd heard countless times before, but Harry took it all in, mentally extending his list of things to research. Key among them were the new terms, Light and Dark. He wondered what they referred to: magic, blood, moral standing? He resigned himself to a lot more time in the library.


	14. Age: 11 and there is a troll on scene

Draco was in a _Mood_.

He had good reason, or at least he thought he did. Most of the school heartily celebrated that useless muggle tradition, Halloween. He glared at the purple clad headmaster, twinkling merrily down at them.

It was Samhain, the magical festival of the dead, a _solemn_ occasion where the echoes of past life were easiest felt. But noooo, that would also be a highly recommended against, 'Dark' ritual– it was all but banned. If the feast hadn't been compulsory he wouldn't have gone, and even then he was tempted to just walk out and conduct the ceremonies anyway. He wouldn't have been alone; some Slytherins, a few Ravenclaws and the odd Hufflepuff or Gryffindor felt the same.

Harry shifted uncomfortably beside him. He could feel the whispers now also. The surrounding festivity felt wrong and disrespectful.

"Troll – in the dungeons – thought you ought to know."

Harry and Draco looked up to the Head table in time to see Quirrel pass out dramatically, sparking instant chaos.

After the headmaster commanded silence and ordered the Prefects to return the Houses to the common rooms, the entirety of Slytherin sat in dead silence.

"He… what? Does he not realise that there is a _troll_ in the dungeons?!" Flint was the first to vocally object.

"I'm not going," Pansy declared.

"The Prefects won't make us, that would be stupid," another boy down the table assured her.

The Slytherins watched dispassionately as the Hall emptied, and Quirrel woke up and rushed after them.

Draco brightened, "They can't run the feast until late this year, we'll have time for the ceremonies after all!"

There was a lot more optimism after that, and the House of the Snakes waited impatiently for their Head of House to track them down.

_…_

Harry was bored. He considered responding to Sasha, but there were still too many people about. He didn't think the Slytherins would indulge in the usual anti-pareltongue fear, but he could reliably count on them to use the information against him in a pinch.

Harry jumped fabulously when Snape threw open the doors and marched inside. He had a particularly sour expression, but his robes billowed no less spectacularly than always, despite his slight limp. Harry decided the effect had to have been helped along by magic. He had to bite his cheek to prevent himself sniggering at the thought of a rob-billowing spell.

In spite of the Professor's stern countenance, he appeared glad that his students had the sense of mind not to go wandering and get themselves beaten to a pulp. Apparently, the troll had left the dungeons and had run into the group of Gryffindors.

Snape waxed poetically (code: mocked mercilessly), taking particular care to explain in detail how the Gryffindor upperclassmen, rather than run or set a distraction, had openly attacked the thing. The troll bore the marks of several very useless stunners and the occasional slightly less useless cutting curse, because apparently Gryffindors just didn't learn from repeated failure. Snape expressed his hope that their stay in the hospital wing would help the lesson sink in.

Then came the best part. _Neville Longbottom_, the hopeless case even the Gryffindors preferred not to associate themselves with, had been the one to levitate the troll's club from its hand. With that out of the equation, Longbottom probably saved a hallway and half a dozen serious injuries. To the Slytherins this was gold. After all, it was one almost-excusable thing to be taken out by a troll, but when a first year make more progress? A gift from Merlin himself.

Harry got the feeling Neville would become exceedingly more popular in the coming days; admired by Ravenclaw for his quick thinking in a crisis, praised by Hufflepuff for his obvious loyalty, and worshiped by Slytherin for providing them with ammunition. Ironically, his bravery probably wouldn't be quite as celebrated in his own house.


	15. Age: 11 and it's November

_"Have you noticed anything else odd about Quirrel?"_ Harry asked Sasha.

_"Besides the fact that he appears to be feigning that irritating noise ailment?"_

_"Well, yes."_

Her tongue darted out and she cocked her head in contemplation. _"He makes me… nervous. His scent alludes to something that is far more powerful than he appears. Faking weakness is a predator tactic, P.T. Be wary. Even if he is not a hidden threat, it is better to be suspicious than get eaten by the ambush hunter."_

A strange, animalistic way of putting it, perhaps, but Harry had learned to take advice from the snake. She had a bank of instinctual knowledge to draw from and years of experience dealing with foxes, house pets, humans, and other, more venomous snakes. If Sasha got the feeling they were dealing with a patient danger, who was Harry to disagree?

_"Should I tell Draco?"_

_"Do you prefer the little one alive?"_

_…_

Harry meditated and focused internally on his magic to better scope out his core as Draco had instructed. Young children did this naturally and effectively, but Harry had to do things the hard way. Typical.

He located the mass of swirling energy inside him. No, not just inside him, it _was_ him. Wasn't it? It was confusing, the line between self and consciousness blurred.

One moment it felt like fire, the next as if it was freezing over, and then like a swirling tornado. It was anything and everything, but most assuredly, it was _wild_.

There was something else, though. A small spot on the surface. No, it went deeper than that. It was darker, more restless than most of the swirling energy.

Harry prodded it curiously. Briefly, he seemed to get a vision of something purple and an alien sense of startled fear, then answering curiosity and eventually dawning realisation. The emotions and visions faded, but when Harry poked the spot again he only got a slight hum.

It was cause for neither fear nor comfort, it just was. Curiosity sated, in Harry's calm meditative state, he paid it no more mind. It blended seamlessly and it wasn't hurting anything. Best leave it be. It was magic, after all, there were never really any answers, just explanations that satisfied theories for a brief time.


	16. Age: 11 and Quirrell is pleased

Harry crumpled the note in his fist until his knuckles turned white. Sasha hissed insults at the controlling, caging, creepy old codger. She got more alliterative when she was especially angry.

Draco looked at both with concern.

"What happened?" The undertone clearly questioned to whom great injury was going to occur to.

"Dumbledore," Harry spat out so vehemently, for a moment he was sure he had spoken parseltongue. He passed Draco the note, which he had a hard time unfolding, but when he did he joined the duo in glaring at the head table.

"Don't worry; it isn't within his rights as headmaster to restrict you to the castle for the holidays except in times of war."

"I know he can't stop me visiting your house, Draco. It's the fact that he tried at all that bothers me."

To say Harry and Dumbledore had been on 'bad terms' since someone called Rita Skeeter had uncovered exactly who'd been responsible for placing Harry with the Dursleys didn't quite capture the spirit of the affairs.

Skeeter was quickly making a high name for herself uncovering scandal after scandal in what was creatively known as 'The Potter Case'. Somehow –Harry suspected a drunken Hagrid or maybe a guilt-ridden McGonagall– Skeeter had uncovered a memory of the night Harry was essentially ditched. He'd been left in a basket on a doorstep in _November_, even afterMcGonagall warned about the Dursleys character and it appeared no one had checked on him. Dumbledore had seemed convinced Harry would be growing up in that household 'far better off away from the nasty influence of fame' even though Sirius Black, his legal guardian, was still free and innocent at the time.

That brought into question the legitimacy of Black's trial, and when Skeeter found that there wasn't evidence of him having gotten one in the public records… well, considering Dumbledore was Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot when Black's case was swept under the rug, as it were, his public face had taken a beating.

Conspiracy theorists were going stark, Black's old friends were demanding a trial, child welfare was demanding that Dumbledore's profile get a serious review (and maybe even reconsider his position as headmaster), and his political enemies were having a field day.

Considering that last point, Harry couldn't comprehend how Dumbledore possibly imagined that Mr Malfoy would want to hurt him. Even if Malfoy Senior despised the very air he breathed, though Harry doubted it, a Slytherin would not discard something of such value. Lucius Malfoy was nothing if not a Slytherin, a political mastermind and very firmly anti-Dumbledore.

Harry Potter knew he would be going to the safest manor on Earth, and he set fire to Dumbledore's note with particular glee. At the head table Dumbledore frowned, Snape raised an eyebrow and Quirrel's lips twitched.

_…_

Harry, Draco and Sasha had an absolute ball. The boys spent the days playing Quidditch when it wasn't snowing, and when it was they haunted the Malfoys' extensive library.

Narcissa and Lucius discovered Harry's parselmouth abilities when he wasn't careful enough around the more attentive portraits, and it was a very nervous Harry that had to face a contemplative Lucius that evening. Mr Malfoy was plenty accepting, masking excitement much as Draco had, but Harry was a still wary to have the renowned politician with such sensitive information on him, especially as Harry had nothing of equivalence to pit it against.

Harry hoped he never outlived his usefulness. It wouldn't be too critical if the population found out, but it would be damaging and annoying. If that was ever to become general knowledge, Harry wanted it to be on his own terms when he could be sure to control the fallout.


	17. Age: 11 and Sasha wants revenge

"Draco, what is this?" Harry asked one afternoon in the Malfoy library.

The blonde glanced down at the book Harry was reading. It was an old tome filled with some things he recognised, but it was written very strangely and used words only vaguely similar to the English they used, which Harry was sure indicated it was very old indeed.

"An ancient school text book, there are thousands of copies. I think we have at least four. People keep them just so they can say they have something from the Founders' era, even if they don't believe what's written." Harry examined the book with renewed interest while Draco continued.

"That book very accurately explains magic, if you can read Middle English. You can keep it. It's not that valuable and it's not as if the teachers can confiscate it," Draco said dismissively.

Funnily, actions that could mean so little to Draco meant the world to Harry.

_…_

On the morning of the 25th, Harry woke up with a fur ball and a laughing snake on his face. He may have deserved it, since he brought the snake a rabbit too large to eat, but that was debatable.

The wizarding Yule traditions made for a merry and family oriented morning, and Harry almost felt like he belonged. There was food, fire, Mr Malfoy even _smiled_.

Harry was given more gifts than in the rest of his years combined. From Narcissa he received some dark green dress robes that were sure to be useful in the Malfoy's annual Yule Ball that evening. Lucius gave him some books on questionable magic that he was no less grateful for, and Draco brought him the latest broom. To his surprise, Crabbe and Goyle each gave him a large box of chocolate, he got a small cobra charm from Zabini and Nott (maybe he hadn't been as subtle as he'd thought), and some extra magical strength hair gel from the girls that he had a good laugh over.

At the bottom of the pile, attached to a nondescript package, was a note. From the contact the Harry had had with the headmaster over the term, he easily recognised the loopy handwriting. If that wasn't enough, how Sasha instantly recoiled from the smell was a bit of a giveaway.

After reading it, the note went much the same way as the last one. He clutched the cloak, _his_ _father's_ _cloak,_ to his chest protectively.

_"How __**dare**__ Dumbledore keep this from me! After all the times I've been called to his office, why didn't he give it to me then?!"_

Sasha coiled angrily around Harry's shoulders. She could feel the tension in her friend and knew he was even more upset than he let on. The Bearded One had left the rank of _Pest_, mosquito level, and had been upgraded into a _Threat_ of the tapeworm variety. Threats were to be avoided. If they persisted, they were to be bitten.

_"I think he means to endear you to him. I've had it with that rainbow Pegasus shite, P.T. We must make him back off."_

Their loudly hissed conversation caught the attention of the Malfoys, and soon turned said attention to an object they had only heard legends of. "The Peverell-Potter invisibility cloak?"

Harry quickly explained the situation, but felt a change of subject was in order. "Hey Draco, what are the chances of the Ministry allowing someone to keep a Cerberus in a school full of children?"

"When they ban Fanged Frisbees as a dangerous item? Absolutely zero."

_…_

_Dear Mrs Skeeter,_

_I would like to thank you for the hard work you have been doing to uncover the truth. I wish you well on the Black Case and hope that justice is done at last._

_On an unrelated note, Professor Dumbledore warned us not to go to the third floor at the beginning of the year because there apparently was something there that could kill us. I didn't really believe this, though in hindsight I should have, but I was curious and I know many of my peers felt the same. There was a locked door, but soon opened with the help of alohomora, and inside was a giant three headed dog. I didn't know it was a Cerberus at the time, since I was focused on running for my life, but I did my research and I know they're meant to be terribly dangerous guard dogs._

_I bring this to you attention because I'm not entirely sure the Ministry has allowed this and I'm concerned for the safety of myself and my peers. I hope this interests you as much as it does me._

_Sincerely concerned,_

_Harry Potter_


	18. Age: 11 and Dumbledore is in trouble

The new term started with a public scandal, one that involved Hogwarts, yet again. The students who hadn't been aware of the Cerberus – that is to say, next to no one – were startled to see it, as well as another troll, being levitated out of the school on the first day back.

Several recently recovered upper-year Gryffindors nearly fainted.

Following Rita's rumours, a full auror investigation uncovered the giant dog, trapdoor, devil's snare, freaky keys, troll, malicious chess set and several deadly poisons. It wasn't widely known, but since Mr Malfoy was on the Board of Governors, Draco and Harry were aware that Dumbledore had been placed on an _extended_ period of probation.

Several aurors were injured apprehending the troll and the teachers involved were being questioned. They revealed, after much persuasion, that they had been asked to construct a defence by the headmaster.

The baffling part was that there was nothing at the end, in fact, there seemed to be no point to the gauntlet at all.

_…_

"Draco!" Harry shushed fiercely. The blond had stubbed his tow on some disgruntled armour, but in his defence, it's very hard to judge the distances to things when the feet are not available as a point of reference.

Harry loved the invisibility cloak. It was completely unique; Mr Malfoy had only prodded it a few times before admitting that it was indeed the cloak thought to be more legend than truth. It was almost easy to find connections between the fairy tales and former Peverell's in Harry's lineage. Draco tried to stress all the political possibilities this opened up, but Harry was more focused on _turning_ _invisible_. Really, that was pretty neat.

It'd saved them from receiving detention from Filch twice that night alone. Honestly, it was freaky how often they almost ran into that man or his infernal cat.

They were looking for the kitchens. Lucius had alluded to the location of one of the worst kept secrets in Hogwarts and the two –sorry Sasha, _three_– were eager to check it out, if not just for the limitless access to desserts.

They hadn't even made it out of the dungeons properly when they heard the awkward shuffling of Filch and, sighing, they ducked into the nearest unlocked room.

They waited with baited breath until the caretaker / Plague of the Halls had passed.

_"What's that?"_

Harry turned his head to see what had caught the snake's attention. It was a large golden mirror. Before either boy could get a proper look, Sasha lunged for it. Harry caught her with practiced ease and lifted her form to eye height.

_"What has gotten into you?"_

_"Don't you see it? In the shiny, lots of tasty froggies in the shiny thing! Don't deny me my food, I will bite you." _

Harry was afraid for a moment that she'd been hit with a _confundus_ when he wasn't looking. Frogs in a mirror? Honestly. Before he could inform her of stupidity, and probably luckily so, she interrupted herself.

_"Wait, hold me upside down again, I can almost read that funny writing."_

For the first time Harry noticed the apparently nonsensical inscription; 'Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi'.

"Draco, do you know what that writing means?"

The other boy read it silently for a few moments before pronouncing his diagnosis, "It's backwards. 'I show not your face, but your heart's desire'."

_"Did you hear that, Sasha, it's just an illusion. Aren't you always telling me to trust my tongue, not my eyes?"_ Harry calmed the struggling serpent who continued muttering about cruel tricks for some time afterwards.

"Come on, I want to see my 'heart's desire'."

"Pansy is back in the dorms, Draco," Harry teased.

The youngest Malfoy made a face. "I'd like to think I have more ambition and better taste than that, thank you very much. Oh, it appears I do. I see myself as the Minster, we have returned to the Old Ways, there isn't a mudblood in sight. Father looks so proud. Well, that was informative, will you look?"

"I don't think I want to know. Come on, let's find the kitchens."

In Dumbledore's office, an alarm sounded. He rushed down to the Mirror, invisible and eager to learn more about young Harry. To his vast disappointment they were gone, and they did not return.


	19. Age: 11 and hook, line, sinker

"W-what are you reading, P-Potter?"

Harry jumped and several students snickered. His face burned red in embarrassment, how had he not heard him coming? How hadn't Sasha, for that matter? He could tell she was just as startled as he was, if not more so.

Harry showed the cover of the old school book Draco had given him.

"I apologise, Professor." He masked his face to look as innocent and as honestly apologetic as he could. He wasn't really. He'd just gotten to the best part, where the book explained about distinguishing between Order and Chaos magic. Come to think of it, that could have had something to do with his uncharacteristic inattention.

Quirrell looked ineffectively stern, "S-see me a-after class."

_…_

"You will h-have detention w-w-with me tomorrow ev-evening at seven."

"Yes sir," Harry bit back an annoyed sigh.

"T-that is an interesting b-book, Mr P-Potter, one of my p-personal favourites. But perhaps not appropriate for the m-middle of my lesson. O-off you go."

_…_

Quirrell set Harry to work sorting through his extensive personal book collection. There were books from all over the world, languages he didn't recognise and subjects he'd never heard of. Apparently Quirrell was quite the hoarder.

Some subjects he did recognise, however. 'A Case Study of Self Transfiguration Across Cultures', 'A Relatively Complete Guild to Every Known Potions Ingredient', 'Dark Creatures Abroad'. There were quite a lot of books on the Dark Arts, which made sense, but Harry was surprised about how varied they were. There certainly appeared to be more than just Dark creatures and curses.

Sasha was hissing obscenities at the Professor, warning the predator to keep away from her hatching. Harry thought this both pointless and adorable. He wanted to tell her to be quieter, but Quirrell didn't appear to hear her racket.

Quirrell encouraged Harry to ask questions, so it was a very informative session. Harry found him a lot more helpful in person than in class. He entertained the idea that maybe Quirrell just got extremely nervous in crowds.

It was only after, when Harry happily bounced away with a couple of loaned books on the Dark Arts, that Harry remembered to be suspicious.

_"It appears Quirrell is taking an interest in the direction of my education." _

_"Be wary, P.T." _

It wasn't much of a suggestion, but Harry agreed, _"Definitely."_

He'd be wary of Quirrell, but he was revealing himself to be a useful source of information. The Hogwarts library had disappointingly little about Dark or Light magic, but maybe the Defence Professor could help. He examined the books with interest; he couldn't wait to read them.

_…_

A week later, when Harry stayed after Defence Against the Dark Arts to return the books, he dragged a reluctant Draco with him. Draco didn't seem to believe that Quirrell wasn't always every bit as incompetent, whether intentional or not, as he seemed in class.

"W-were they informative?"

"Very, sir. Actually, I had a few questions, if you wouldn't mind."

"P-perhaps if you would drop b-by my class room later tonight? I'm a-afraid I'm a little b-busy at the moment."

"Of course, we'll be there," Harry promised. He then proceeded to drag Draco out of there before he could protest.

And so the tutoring began.


	20. Age: 11 and there is chaos or order

"Good ev-evening, you had q-questions?" Quirrell greeted the two.

"Yes sir. I've heard many references to Dark and Light, and Chaos and Order magic, but the explanations are a little vague," Harry started.

"Yes, they tend t-to be. So do y-you want to know w-what magic is, or do you want the p-political explanation?"

Harry was confused, "What it is, I guess."

Quirrell lent back against his test, toying with the end of his turban idly. "Hmm, w-well then that is technically out of my teaching r-range, since Defence Against the D-Dark Arts is mostly against what is p-politically determined Dark, or rather, Bad. Dark and Light are the modern t-terms for Chaos and Order. Light is Order, and Dark; Ch-Chaos. Of course, these t-terms inspired the synonymous l-link to Good and Bad, but t-that is really just a technicality in the language and isn't r-reflected in the nature of the m-magic.

The main difference is that Order magic is drawn from w-within with caster. The intention is _shaped_ with language, r-runes and wand movements, and arithmetic calculations. It is e-easier, more predictable and safer, so u-usually also exclusively taught in schools. Merlin was the first L-Light Lord, since he not only invented the s-staff and, by association, what we know as Light magic, but he was also r-ridiculously powerful.

Chaos magic is older, more… p-primal, less structured, I suppose you could say. To understand th-that there is Chaos magic, you must first c-comprehend how there is magical e-energy in all matter. This residual magic, a potential for g-great power, is only _influenced_ by will and e-emotion to produce the effect, but most w-weak magicians can't actually do this. That's why we don't hear about m-many wizards or witches from ancient times; most, without w-wands, could only live as muggles, with the occasional a-accidental magic incident. Chaos magic is often overwhelming, practically alive, and that is what makes it dangerous. Morgana is famous for o-opposing Merlin, and she was the first Dark Lady, allegedly a-appointed by Magic itself to ensure the b-balance.

Since Merlin and Morgana, t-there have always been a Dark and Light L-Lord. Very little magic is exclusively Dark or Light, m-most are the shades of grey we affectionately call neutral. In B-Britain at least, there is very little true Dark Magic left in practice, with the e-exception of a few rituals and the Patronus Ch-Charm."

"Patronus?" Harry prompted when the Professor paused.

"It is a protective charm u-used to fend off d-dementors. It relies on happy emotion, and produces an a-animal guardian. It's also h-helpful and therefore politically good, but t-there you have it."

"What about the Unforgivables?" Draco asked. Even he was interested, and he knew most of the basics already.

"Light, Dark, N-Neutral. They require tightly controlled i-intent, which is present in both types of magic, but the necessary stimulus of emotion m-makes the Torture Curse mostly Dark, while the K-Killing is more neutral. The Imperious is s-strictly Light, since it takes and offers c-complete control. They were banned and all labelled as Dark."

If their names even alluded to their effect, Harry didn't have to wonder why they were considered nasty. "So the stigma is against nasty spells, not Dark magic itself? Why don't they teach us this in class?"

"C-can you guess who t-the Light Lord of this e-era is?"

_"Dumbledore,"_ Sasha spat. Harry had quite forgotten she was there, she was so oddly silent.

"D-Dumbledore has quite a political following and he g-gains more power for his side by l-limiting the Dark. He gained notoriety when defeated Grindleward, the Dark L-Lord, b-before Lord V-Vol-Voldemort, and most people listen to him."

Draco looked impressed that the Professor would be brave enough to even think that name.

"Before Dumbledore, t-the Light ruled in France for nearly a h-hundred years. T-the balance in E-Europe has been tipped, and i-it affects the world."

_…_

"Do you believe me now?" Harry asked as they left Quirrell's office, much, much later.

"Oh alright, he's not so useless." He sounded reluctant, but contrary to this, he was the one dragging Harry the next time either of them had a question.

_"I don't trust him, he has an effective façade," _Sasha insisted.

_"I don't either, but really, where do you learn these words?"_


	21. Age: 11 and there are Dark Arts afoot

Once assured that he could, in fact, help quite effectively, Harry and Draco went to Quirrell with all their problems. The problem of the hour happened to be Charms. Well, it started as Charms, but the lessons went the same way they all tended to – on a tangent.

It started as a theoretical question about a basic shielding (those Gryffindors were making a nuisance of themselves again), and Quirrell had wondered why they even needed help. Harry had protested, saying that he was only exceptional at Defence, and probably only because of Quirrell's extra tutelage, not Charms. The Professor had doused him with water for that comment.

"All wizard m-magic is about _i-intent_, it does not d-distinguish between human definitions. Defence, Charms, Transfiguration; they are hardly different. You are d-damn good at magic. Live with it and do not let i-it hold you back."

Somehow, that disintegrated into a lesson on the Patronus. Quirrell was trying to make a point. He claimed that magical strength wise, Harry should have been able to cast a patronus by his tenth birthday. Draco, apparently, wasn't quite as powerful, and he sulked quite impressively at that. He didn't feel so bad when Quirrell brazenly called Harry a freak of nature, though.

Dark magic was a two point issue, however; it required the power and the emotion. Harry had the power, but the emotion? When had he last been that powerfully happy? Had he ever?

Meeting Sasha, foiling the Dursleys, accidently setting the constrictor on them, meeting Draco, seeing Hogwarts, sticking it to Dumbledore, flying, his dad's invisibility cloak, Yule at the Malfoys and feeling like part of a family at last. He tried them all. The last was the most powerful he possessed, but he only got a wisp of silver smoke for his efforts.

Quirrell considered that perhaps something else was at fault; the memories may have been powerful enough but they weren't _felt_ strongly enough.

"P-Potter, those muggles, did they ever beat you for showing emotion?"

Harry recalled the punishment, how they only got worse when he cried, how the verbal tirades started when he was happy or content or desperate.

"Yes, I think so."

"That explains a lot," Quirrell muttered bitterly, seemingly to himself. Harry thought he caught a few lengthy and colourful curses to Dumbledore (something about being manipulative, and a blush-worthy reference to goats) thrown in the following indistinguishable mutterings.

"Potter, I expect to see you at the Hospital Wing tomorrow at noon. I'm going to arrange for a mind healer – _do not_ make me track you down." His voice was strong and authoritative, it was the voice from the corridor all those weeks ago, with not a hint of a stutter.

_"Dangerous,"_ Sasha needlessly reminded him.

Sometimes, Harry felt more like a bold Gryffindor than a self-preserving Slytherin. Sasha's warning would be kept in mind, but not acted upon. He valued Quirrell's knowledge too much, and the man hadn't turned on him yet.

_…_

Harry turned up to the appointment on time, fearing Quirrell's wrath. The mind healer, though, was very kind and they just talked for hours.

Then came the diagnosis; he'd been left with several psychological and emotional problems thanks to his relatives, including one he fervently denied.

"I do not have a hero complex!"

_"You interfere when the Balloon Dursley beat up the other munchies, even when it was detrimental to your health and I specifically told you not to."_

Harry deflated. "Ok, I need help. Can you fix me?" He turned his pleading eyes on the nurse.

She did. She was very kind and in the following weeks she somehow helped him through problems he never knew he had, somehow all without being condescending.

_…_

"_Expecto Patronum!_" Harry roared and finally, _finally_ the spell worked as it was supposed to. A massive, fussy, silver serpent of some kind shot from the wand and coiled protectively around the boy, teacher and other snake. Harry staggered, exhausted, and the apparition vanished.

Quirrell seemed exceptionally proud and pleased. Sasha, on the other hand…

_"What, am I not enough protection for you?!"_

_"Hush, my friend, I could never replace you," _Harry whispered back.

"Now, do you want to do it wandlessly? I warn you, you would officially be a Dark wizard by Ministry standards. It's not worth time in Azkaban, but damaging to the public image in these times." Since his lapse, Quirrell didn't stutter when only around Harry anymore. Harry didn't know if it was because he didn't care to maintain the façade, or had gotten used to his presence and was no longer nervous.

Harry didn't mind if his public face took a battering, he was a parselmouth after all, and had resigned himself to a few months of Dark accusations anyway. He was their Boy-who-lived, he'd bounce back. "So soon? I could barely do it with a wand. It is even possible?"

"Depends. Do you know what your magic feels like?"

Harry pondered Quirrell's question and assumed he referred to the tradition Draco had painstakingly walked him through last term, "I think I do."

"Good, that saves us time. Put down you wand and ignore the incantation, you won't be needing either; the Light elements aren't essential. Now that you know the form, picture it, focus on the _feeling_ of happiness only– do not revive the memory. Then, feel your magic, let it build, feel the world around you and draw on that also." Quirrell watched the boy carefully. "Now, you _need_ protection."

Immediately, a brilliant silver mist condensed. The cloud writhed and meshed until, in seconds, it formed the serpent that was larger, clearer and more solid than before. Quirrell was familiar with that species; not the most visually showy of snakes, but certainly a fast, vicious and very deadly one. Quirrell thought it accurately reflected his student.

To Harry, the magic was like nothing he'd ever felt. Instead of the previous exhaustion, he was instantly invigorated by the influx of energy that used him as a channel. It resonated with his own magic, only it was _so_ much more potent. Forget power socket– it was like the whole freaking electrical storm!

"I told you it was overwhelming," Harry cracked open his eyes to see Quirrell smirking down at him. Wait, down? When did he end up on the floor?

"Do you get used to it?" Harry asked as he struggled to sit up. His magic flared, his limbs tingled pleasantly and his mind whirled. He felt like he was coming down from a sugar high. The patronus was still there, looking for threats.

Quirrell didn't know at what point Harry had come to regard him as an expert on Dark magic, but the other man didn't bother denying it. "No. Never."

"Why is it so…" Harry gestured vaguely, unable to put it to words.

"The wand is useful and sometimes necessary for most Light and neutral magic, but with the Dark it constrains the spells, the power and the feeling."

A second patronus, a racoon, joined Harry's. Harry could feel the magic in the air– it made his hair stand on end. Even if Harry was as powerful as Quirrell claimed, he was hopelessly outclassed by the man himself. And it felt confined, somehow, like this was only a small portion of the potential.

"_This_ is magic, Harry, this is wild, free. You could even rightly call it _pure_, if you want to really annoy some people."


	22. Age: 11 and Slytherins are smarter

"Have you heard the news?!" Draco ran up to Harry, panting. Harry was alarmed; if it got a Malfoy moving swiftly, it had to be big.

"No… do I want to?" He glanced around for a possible escape route.

"Dragon–"

_"A cousin! Let's meet it."_

"_Shut up, Sasha. We are not going to offer ourselves up as lunch._ What do you mean by dragon?"

"Giant, scaly, breaths fire. Set fire to the groundskeeper's hut and torched several greenhouses, in fact," Draco huffed irritably, pulling Harry by the arm to the nearest window.

"Oh, just checking."

Flying a little unsteadily, twisting and dodging through the air, was a black creature, perhaps two metres long with a six metre wingspan. As they watched, it avoided the red sparks sent towards it and ducked inside the front doors.

Harry met Draco's eyes slowly. "Can dragons speak parseltongue?"

"Not that species. Shall we go up a few floors to the library?" Draco suggested casually.

A rumbling crash came from below their feet somewhere. "Yes, quickly."

"It torched the greenhouses, you said?" Harry asked as they ran.

"Yeah, its lucky Sprout hasn't caught up to it yet."


	23. Age: 11 and ignorance is bliss

The moon was bright in the sky and cast eerie shadows across the grounds. Harry folded his invisibility cloak over his shoulder and made his way down to the lake. He lay beneath the beech tree and stared up at the dark branches in wonder– his parents and their friends had sat there, once upon a time.

"Potter? What are you doing out here?"

Harry tilted his head back until he could see who was approaching. "Hello, Professor."

Quirrell sat down beside him and rubbed his eyes tiredly.

"You have sticks in your turban." He was covered in pine needles and dirt, in fact, as if he's been crawling around in the forest.

"Yes, it fell to me to make sure there weren't any more dragons out there. But, again, why aren't you in your dormitory?"

"Couldn't sleep," Harry chose to ignore Quirrell's slight reprimand, and instead continued bitterly. "When I was with the Dursleys, I used to wish someone would take me away – over time I built up an elaborate story. Bit stupid now, really."

Harry turned to look across the rippling lake with another sigh. "No one ever came, probably because the only one who would've was wrongly imprisoned."

"Black finally got his trial, then?" Quirrell asked quietly.

Harry nodded, "I met him today. The dementors did a number on him. He needs a good nutrient program and months of mind healing, but he'll always be a bit mad. Still, he's fun to be around; a good person, someone who didn't deserve to lose years of their life. He's more like a loopy older brother than a godfather, but the nurses say I can't move in with him for another year."

His teacher was silent.

_"I want to meet him properly, pipsqueak."_

Harry considered for a moment. Watching the Professor's face carefully, Harry reached into his sleeve and pulled out the four foot long reptile.

"This is Sasha," he said while the snake coiled around his hand and examined Quirrell with interest. "She's mostly harmless. OUCH! Ok, she objects to being called harmless. She protected me from the Dursleys and from my own stupidity, as she keeps insisting. I'm a parselmouth."

Quirrell met Sasha's eyes steadily, "Fascinating."

_"Oh, that is definitely a predator. Poisonous snake, hidden cat, cunning fox, waiting spider. But not with a taste for Harrys, I think."_

_"That's comforting."_

"What is she saying?" Quirrell asked with interest.

Harry stroked her head softly. "She's trying to work out how dangerous you are. It's been bothering her for months."

The Professor looked mildly surprised and pleased. "I'm flattered."

_"You're on your own, P.T., put me down, I haven't had a good swim in ages."_

Harry set the serpent on the grass and watched as she disappeared in the direction of the lake._ "Ah, the loyalty of reptiles."_

Her dark head rose from the grass some distance away and turned to look at him, tongue flashing. _"Don't make me bite you again."_

_…_

Quirrell stormed into his office, muttering about meddling old coots and shiny monstrosities. He took his frustration out on a conjured vase, which was quickly blasted to pieces.

Draco jumped but Harry didn't even bother looking up. "Morning, Professor. What's the static conversion rate of matter in object-to-creature transfiguration?"

"8.99 times 10 to the power of 9," Quirrell answered automatically.

"You seem tense, Professor," Draco added cautiously.

"Really?" Another vase shattered.

Harry finished his Transfiguration homework and looked up. Quirrell's turban was askew and sparks danced around his clothing. "What's the problem?"

"Your eccentric headmaster can't keep objects in one place," spat their teacher.

Harry's curiosity was caught, "What are you looking for?"

"I doubt you can help."

"Try us."

Quirrell gave a resigned sigh that seemed to shake his whole slight frame. "A large, slightly scary, golden framed mirror."

Draco immediately jumped to his aid, "Hey, Harry, do you think he means the freaky Desire Mirror we ran into in the dungeons?"

Quirrell froze in the process of conjuring a third breakable object. It succumbed to gravity and broke without the extra effort. "Come again?"

"First floor, left wing, second passageway into the dungeons, third door on the right," Harry interjected helpfully.

Quirrell left as quickly as he'd arrived. "If it's just been lying around this place since Christmas I am going to curse someone."

The door slammed and the two boys stared at it for quite some time.

"What do you suppose _that_ was about?" Draco asked at last.

Harry shrugged and flipped open the lasted assigned reading, "We're probably better off not knowing. And if anyone asks, we were in the library all evening."


	24. Age: 11 and the first year ends

Due to a combination of pressure from Mr Malfoy and tips from Quirrell, both Draco and Harry did exceptionally on their exams. In terms of the class ranking they were only behind Draco's favourite know-it-all in everything but Defence, where they claimed first and second. They aced the practical portions of the exams, with Draco's tutelage saving Harry's ass in Potions and astronomy, but in the theoretical Granger's memory (or lack of a life, Draco insisted) prevailed.

Quirrell vanished suddenly. His colleagues couldn't seem to work out what had happened to him, but Dumbledore seemed a little pale. Harry and Draco were sad to lose their teacher, but their opinion wasn't shared by the vast majority.

Harry and Draco decided to take look at the mirror, but it was gone. Sasha pronounced that the hunter had found what he'd come for and bemoaned the loss of her frogs, imaginary though they'd been.

On the last day of the year, the aurors returned and Dumbledore was in trouble. Rumours circulated, exaggerated out of proportion and no doubt spurred on by the Slytherins. By latest speculation, Dumbledore had lost his friend's philosopher's stone to an agent possessed by Voldemort himself.

But that was ridiculous.

What wasn't quite as scarcely believable was that something had been hunting unicorns and Dumbledore hadn't informed the Ministry. It turned out the dragon incident had been hushed up also. The decisions from the Board was unanimous – Mr Malfoy only had to blackmail three people – and Dumbledore's extended period of probation ended early with his immediate sacking.

With his reputation in shambles, lovely Rita Skeeter got bolder and released the information she'd been steadily gathering for years in a book called _The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore. _

It was an instant bestseller.

Striped of his influence in Hogwarts, the Ministry and the International Confederation of Wizards, he'd been knocked down heavily. Down, but not out.

_…_

"You must be Harry, dear, how nice to meet you."

Harry turned, bewildered, to face a red headed woman he couldn't recall ever having seen before. "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

She wore a large, but somewhat strained, smile. The woman approached, and a group of similar red heads broke away from the crowd at the station and came closer. Harry thought he recognised several of them from school.

"I'm Molly Weasley. Ron's told us all about you of course."

Harry highly doubted that Ron had anything pleasant to say about him, but if so, then why was his mother making such an effort to be kind? Also, who was the little girl half hidden behind mother-Weasley, and why was she looking at him like he was the second, more attractive coming of Merlin?

"I must say, you look so much like your father. We were good friends with both your parents, Lily especially. She was such a kind soul. You've got her beautiful eyes."

Somehow, he doubted that his parents had known everyone in magical Britain, but the number of people that had come up to him and claimed to have been chummy with them was staggering.

"What is her sister's name?" he asked abruptly. Most people just stared blankly, having heard of no such sister in their gossip magazines.

Mrs Weasley stared blankly too, but that was from bemusement and she eventually got around to answering. "Well, um… Petunia, isn't it?"

Huh, maybe these people had known them, after all. Unfortunately, it was this type that he was most uncomfortable dealing with. Many assumed that, since he was a walking aesthetic blend of the two, he had also inherited the best of their personalities, never mind that the circumstances made the character, not the genes. Snape, McGonagall, Sirius – they all acted like they already knew him, and that usually stopped them getting to know him at all.

It'd taken blind-siding Snape to snap him out of his misconceptions, he still had difficulties with Hagrid and McGonagall, but Harry was hopeful that when Sirius recovered from the delirium induced by the dementors, he would come to see him as his own person and not as his best friend returned from the dead.

The Weasleys, though… Harry did not want to deal with this. He was very relieved when Mr Malfoy found him and led him to the apparition point after imparting some snide remarks, and he tried not to giggle at the furious picture Mrs Weasley made.


	25. Age: 11 and is that a tattoo?

Harry loved spending the summer at the Malfoys, and not just because watching Sasha stalking the white peacocks was utterly hilarious.

Harry could be himself and he didn't have to hide his status as parselmouth, which had really begun to grate on his patience during the school year. Whenever Sasha's attention span permitted it, she sat proudly around his shoulders. It was a kind of freedom they're never experienced at Private Drive or Hogwarts.

Each day Harry and Draco worked on their Quidditch skills, when Mr Malfoy could spare the time he work with the boys in the library, and Mrs Malfoy ("call me Aunt Narcissa, dear") drilled correct etiquette into Harry's mannerisms.

The underage restrictions meant they were technically not allowed to use their wands, and although the Ministry couldn't actually track this in a magical household, the Malfoys enforced it. It was a great way to encourage them to practice wandless magic, after all.

Wandless magic came easier to Draco than it did to Harry. The pureblood had been raised to exert a stern awareness of himself emotionally and mentally. Harry, on the other hand, was more of a loose cannon and a turbulent pile of thoughts and feelings. Harry could get the magic to respond from sheer power, but the results were usually unexpected.

He was getting there. Slowly. Two weeks into the vacation, instead of setting fire to his pants when he tried to tie his shoelaces, he only irreparably knotted them instead.

_…_

There was a metallic clatter as Mr Malfoy's cutlery fell from his limp fingers and onto his plate. The unexpected sound drew the attention of his wife, son and guest.

Harry watched, confused, as the head of House Malfoy winced and grasped his forearm. His mask slipped, momentarily betraying a mixture of surprise, confusion, hope and fear, and that alone chilled Harry to the core. Lucius rolled the sleeves of his robes up to the elbow, in time for the members of his household to see the faint red tattoo of a skull and snake turn a vivid black.

Mr Malfoy was frozen, Narcissa paled and gasped, pressing a dainty hand to her lips, but to Harry's slight relief their offspring seemed just as knowledgeable as he was.

"Mother? Father? What's going on?" The boy's voice shook slightly, but no one made to answer him.

Mrs Malfoy met her husband's eyes from across the table. They seemed to have a silent conversation that endured for several long heartbeats.

"Good evening, my dear, boys," Mr Malfoy said with a nod to each of them, oddly calm. "I am required elsewhere, I'm afraid."

He vanished with a pop, and Mrs Malfoy didn't even berate the remaining space for apparating at the dinner table.

The remainder of the meal was a quiet affair. Mrs Malfoy was anxious and didn't even appear to hear her son's insistent questions. She kept glancing at the doorway. At one stage she called a house-elf and whispered for it to prepare the medical potions, just in case.

Sasha slithered through the doorway and demanded attention. _"What happened, P.T., I can smell the fear from across the house. And this is a very big house."_

_"I don't know,"_ Harry murmured, almost afraid to interrupt the Malfoys' mounting panic.

The familiar weight settled around his shoulders and Harry felt some of the tension leave him.


	26. Age: 11 and it's too late to run away?

Mr Malfoy returned several hours later and, to Narcissa's surprise, no worse for wear.

"Yes, it's him… he's found his purpose again… not as bad as last time… I'm not sure…" Harry only caught snippets of the conversation between the two elder Malfoys.

Then, Mr Malfoy turned to Harry. He took a breath, "Potter, the Dark Lord has returned. He's asked to meet you, there's no place on Earth you could turn to escape him. We should not keep him waiting."

_"Sasha?"_ Harry questioned. His mind was frantic, he didn't trust himself the think straight.

_"Can't flee, can't hide, and you can't play dead convincingly. I suggest you appease him and hope he eats someone else. Go, but I'm coming with you."_

"Alright," Harry took Mr Malfoy's waiting hand and the three disappeared.

_…_

The manor was a little rundown and almost muggle in appearance. Temporary headquarters, he decided.

Harry's heart pounded against his ribs; he was going to see the Dark Lord Voldemort, the murderer of his parents and quite possibly himself. Harry doubted that Voldemort would be pleased with being kicked out of his body for a decade. His knees shook and he doubted he would've been able to stand if Mr Malfoy hadn't kept such a steady grip on his arm.

They walked swiftly until they stopped before a carved set of oak doors.

"When you go in, bow, address him as My Lord, speak when spoken to, do not challenge him." Mr Malfoy's grip tightened painfully, "Good luck, Harry."

While Harry was glad Mr Malfoy was worried for him, it wasn't exactly _comforting_. He was about to enter a room with a man he'd only ever hear fearsome tales about, a man so terrifying that hundreds couldn't even bring themselves to say his name.

_Why_ couldn't the floor just open up and swallow him?

_…_

He needn't have worried about bowing. The moment he opened the door a force washed over him, knocked the breath clean out of him. He was aware of falling to his knees and sagging against the doorframe.

He _recognised_ that aurora, he'd felt a hint of it when Quirrell had produced the patronus, but that was only a hint and it was watered down by different magic. The sheer power radiating in the room was truly staggering. It was rough and gentle at once, turbulent and calm, and all sorts of annoying contradictions that Harry wasn't in the state of mind to sort through.

He realised that he'd felt this magic somewhere else. There was a sliver of it in his own magical core, and if he focused on his own magic for a moment, he could feel it purring, meshing seamlessly with his own.

_"Enough dramatics, Tosser, pay attention to the most dangerous thing in the room. For once that is not your imagination, get up!"_

At Sasha's urging, Harry shook his head to clear it, though it still felt full of sawdust. He managed to wobble to his feet and he looked at the Dark Lord for the first time. He sat behind a lavish desk, a slight smirk on his lips.

Voldemort certainly didn't look like the epitome of pure evil, in fact, were Harry a few years older, he may have even described the man before him as very handsome. He looked to be in his late twenties and had pale skin, dark hair and an angelic face. Those piecing red eyes, burning with intelligence and power, did detract from his innocence slightly.

"You have been practicing," he murmured. Harry didn't know why he'd expected anything less than a smooth, cultured voice. "The more we use Dark magic, the more attuned we become to the feeling. I admit I did not expect to knock you off your feet, but I am pleased."

Harry supposed that, at least, was a good sign for his continued wellbeing, but he got the distinct feeling Voldemort was laughing at him.

_'Great, I'm comic relief for Dark Lords. What has my life come to?'_ Then Harry remembered Voldemort could read minds, and quickly dispelled that thought.

"How–" Harry's voice rasped. His inner Slytherin screamed at him to shut up lest he come across those cumbersome social boundaries and trip over them, but he ploughed on, "How is your magic familiar, my Lord?"

Voldemort raised an eyebrow, probably at his audacity. "I possessed Quirrell for over a year. That reminds me; I should thank you for pointing me towards that mirror. If I'd been unable to find it I may have had to resurrect myself with the contingency plan, which could have had adverse effects on my sanity."

"You're welcome," Harry replied automatically. That put him at ease slightly, if he'd been with Voldemort all year and he hadn't killed him, he might not now. But that could be wishful thinking.

Movement drew his attention, fortunately, before he could do anything monumentally stupid like point out that he seemed to have accidentally hijacked some of the Dark Lord's magic.

A huge green snake curled around the desk, watching him with intelligent unblinking eyes.

_"This is my faithful companion, Nagini,"_ Voldemort caressed the creature's large head, and it butted his palm like a dog. Harry was surprised to hear parseltongue from another. It was strange to distinguish from English.

_"My greetings to you, beautiful serpent,"_ Harry whispered. He clamped Sasha's mouth between a finger and thumb as a precaution, but the smaller snake's self-preservation instincts won out over her need to sass everything that moved.

_"Welcome Sspeaker and Companion."_ Nagini's voice was lower than Sasha's, with more a more pronounced stress on the 's'. It gave the impression of an exotic accent.

"You wonder why I had Lucius bring you here?"

Harry figured Voldemort could probably just about feel his curiosity, "Yes, my Lord."

"The world recognises you as my defeater."

Oh bother. "Um… sorry?"

"I went after you that night because a spy came to me with a prophecy depicting you as the one with the power to defeat me. It was presumptuous of me to assume that you would be the next Light Lord after Dumbledore, but I set aside my goals and hunted you down because you could have been a threat to my cause." Voldemort stood and paced around the boy. It was hard to ignore how tall and intimidating he was.

"You were a strange child; the offspring off two very Light magical parents, yet you had entirely neutral magic leanings. I tried to kill you and my spell bounced back. You are a strong child, but not strong enough to accidently repel an unblockable curse. Instead, I can feel you have something's protection. It's is all very interesting, and I am nothing if not an academic."

Perhaps he would not spend the future as a corpse, but a lab rat. Well, that was a slight improvement.

"Thank you for telling me this, my Lord." Harry was just grateful to finally meet someone willing to give him some answers. He was alarmed to see Voldemort raise his wand, but the other man only poked his forehead lightly. His handsome face tilted to the side like a curious child's when a patchwork layer of glimmering silver became visible dancing across Harry's skin.

It seemed to sink back into his skin when Voldemort ended whatever spell he'd used, "No matter. You are actually here to sate my curiosity on something else – what is your opinion of my cause?"

Harry fought the urge to shuffle nervously. "I… I don't think I know enough to form my opinion. The outspoken and the history books aren't positive, but they also happen to be convinced I was ten foot tall and farting lightning bolts. On the other hand, the Slytherins my age are too young for their parents to have told them more than 'Dark Lord good, Dumbledore bad'."

Voldemort grinned at him. _That_ was terrifying. "I'm glad you realise history is written by the victors and repeatedly told by the softheaded. I, quite frankly, aspire to legally take over the Ministry, return the traditions, completely separated the magical and muggle worlds, and prepare to survive the war that will inevitably occur when the muggles figure out we exist. I will, of course, also fulfil my obligations to the Vampire and Werewolf clans, giving them equal standing in my new society."

It wasn't as bad as he'd had feared. Not bad at all, considering Voldemort was a revolutionary.

The strange thing was, Harry could tell Voldemort was being honest. He was connected with his magic, and that strange spot that seemed to link the two together hinted no masked subterfuge and only passive malice.

Politics didn't really bother him all that much. If he had to pick a side, he'd probably say he was Dark. He didn't agree with how the Light had indoctrinated generations to associate themselves with Good. He didn't believe Dumbledore's idealistic and naïve approach to muggles, nor his position on Darkness. How could he after the proof he'd been shown on the true Chaos?

But then again, when being taught Dark Arts by a Dark Lord, one should assume a little bias. "Did you manipulate me last year?"

"Obviously. You would be a great asset to my side. Although, you could also say I merely opened your eyes. Have I lied to you, Harry?" Voldemort's voice was soft and very compelling, "I know you would have cross-referenced what I taught you over several books, and false information is so very easy to prove. You would have become suspicious if I'd lied, so I didn't."

Voldemort stopped his tracks before his desk and leant against it, empty hands far from any pockets. Harry was aware that he was making an effort to be nonthreatening, and if he was interested in Harry's feelings he had to want something. Harry was relieved. Generally, you didn't care if you were frightening someone you were going to kill.

Harry understood that this was the part where he bargained for his life. "What do you want, my Lord?"

"From you? Frankly, at your age you are not much use to me, besides celebrity endorsement. You have accomplished so much with just your name and an overblown reputation this year alone. I only had to stir things a little to get Dumbledore fired. If you place your support behind my more diplomatic ideologies, I could easily integrate them. You could quickly make up for the setback you… inadvertently caused. If, that is, we can both put aside our history."

Essentially calling it even with Voldemort? He'd killed his parents. He'd tried to kill Harry. He was also offering to let him live. Better than nothing. "I can do that, my Lord."

_…_

"I'm alright, Draco, really," Harry tried and failed to pry the blond boy's arms from around his neck.

"But _you_ met the _Dark Lord_, how are you still breathing?" The poor kid was beside himself.

"Yes I did. Last year, in fact, when he was pretending to be Quirrell so he could find that mirror and get his body back or something."

At that, Draco turned white, "What? I think I'm going to faint."

Harry blanched at the prospect, "Please don't. Not while you're hanging off me."

"What's he look like? Is he strong? Does he really have a giant snake? Did he mention me?"

"Oh, sweat Merlin. Draco, please be quiet before I get the wrong idea."

Draco was confused for a moment, but then understanding dawned and he punched Harry's arm. "Not like that!"


	27. Age: 12 and still alive and insufferable

**A/N: 100 reviews milestone reached by ElephantsRuleTheWorld! I'd like to thank everyone for supporting this story. You're feedback is always a pleasure to read, you make writing fun.**

**Anonymous reviewers: I thank you all for your continued support, I'll answer what questions I can:**

**Guest - The wizarding public will find out about Sasha at some point.**

**Cherrie-san - Harry's patronus is a taipan, good guess. Sprout usually uses dragon dung for fertilizer, not minced dragons themselves, but I believe she would make an exception. I totally agree: innuendo makes the world go round.**

**Important note: the rest of Harry's school years will be covered, but not in nearly so much detail as first year. That was always The Plan and I now have 7000 words left at my disposal to complete it. Wish me luck!**

_…_

It was Harry's twelfth birthday. The Dark Lord was back and he'd _made it to twelve_. Who'd have thought?

Actually, Voldemort had given himself another name, this time a normal one that wouldn't scare off people in the political field, and these days went by Tom Marvolo Riddle. It happened to be an anagram for 'I am Lord Voldemort'. Harry was still trying to decide if the Dark Lord had a weird sense of humour.

Tom had explained that it should be possible for him to gain power legally since Dumbledore's amassed following had been thoroughly disillusioned. Even if Dumbledore recognised him and tried to lock him out of politics like last time, Tom wouldn't have to stage a coup. They were such a hassle, after all.

Harry didn't yet regret his decision to help Tom. He agreed with the cause and he could almost forgive him for the death of his parents, since they were offered an out they didn't take it. Whatever misgivings he felt towards Tom for that were more because he knew he _should_ hate him, but the truth of the matter was; he'd never met his parents. He loved an _idea_ but couldn't truly miss the people, the strangers. He couldn't hold Tom's body count against him; Lucius had murdered also, yet Harry liked him just fine. He didn't necessarily trust either man, but that would be foolish.

It probably helped that Tom was so strangely likeable when he wasn't playing the intimidating revolutionary leader.

Once Harry realised that he could treat Tom as he had Quirrell, the poor man never got any peace. Tom seemed to have a soft spot for Harry. Well, he put up with his questions and didn't practice his nastiest curses on him, which was about as close to soft as the Dark Lord ever got.

Harry just took the friendship he'd formed with his Defence Professor and transferred it under a different name. He could tell that Tom was alarmed and a little uncomfortable with that, and Harry silently delighted in it.

_…_

"Hey, Tom?"

The Dark Lord glanced up from his book with a question on his lips, only to pause when he saw the scrawny boy lounging in Nagini's coils, dangling a mouse over her head. What struck the Dark Lord as odd was that the boy wasn't being crushed, leading only to the conclusion that Nagini was fond of him. Tom couldn't fathom why.

"_What_ are you doing?"

Harry met his eyes innocently. Once his attention was side-tracked, Sasha shot out of his sleeve and snagged the mouse before fleeing back into his robes before she, in turn, could get eaten. "Wandless summoning, just like you told me to. Anyway, why can't we conjure food?"

Tom just rolled his eyes. "Conjuring isn't permanent, there's no point."

"Ooh, why didn't they just say that at school?" Harry wondered, patting a sulking Nagini condolingly.

"It's fourth year material. Get back to your summoning. _Do_ try not to get eaten."

"Would you miss me?"

Tom let Harry know with a single look just how replaceable he was.

_…_

There was something that had been bothering Harry for some time. He decided to just out with it, "What did the prophecy say?"

Tom watched him through narrowed eyes, "_'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies.'_"

"Well that's vague. Why didn't you blow St Mungo's Maternity Ward to pieces on my birthday to cover all bases?" As repugnant as the idea might be to Harry, he knew that Tom had a slightly skewered moral compass.

Tom stared into space, long fingers tapping his chin. "It isn't complete, I did not want to act until I heard it in full. Also, I was doubtful of its validity, not because I believe myself infallible, but because my spy overheard it at a job interview, of all things, between Trelawney and Dumbledore. An unknown Seer, desperate for a post and a meddlesome coot, not above making sacrifices for the greater good, and above all, the interview was in the Hogshead within range of one of my Death Eaters. Tell me that is _not_ suspicious."

That created more questions than it answered, but the one Harry most wanted to know was; "Then why did you come after me?"

"Pettigrew came to me as the secret keeper for the Potters. It was an opportunity not to be passed up, just in case. Rather unfortunate for us both, as it were."

Tom had that expression again, the one that meant he was thinking at speeds most would find disorienting. "I still do not know what it, allegedly, says, though I suppose we could view the copy in the Department of Mysteries."

After doing some thinking of his own, Harry decided it wasn't worth it, "I don't think we need to. It specifically said vanquish, and since you were kicked out of power for a decade and as far as the public is concerned, Voldemort isn't coming back, I'd say that criteria is fulfilled. Besides, for what you've told me, Divination seems like a waste of time. We can probably just ignore it."

"I'd still feel better if you took an oath not to kill me," Tom actually sounded sullen.

Harry rolled his eyes, "How could I possible bring you down, anyway? I don't think unfathomable sarcasm is going to cut it. If you're still determined to go through with this, I can lend you a copy of Macbeth, then you can see exactly where trying to stop some old hag's prophecy can get you."

"You are impossible."

"Insufferable," Harry corrected with a grin.

"Sasha needs to stop teaching you such long words, brat, you sound like you've ingested a thesaurus." But he too was smiling.


	28. Age: 12 and taking after Tom

Harry's second year at Hogwarts looked to be boring and uneventful. McGonagall was made Headmistress and a middle aged witch, Professor Vance, filled her post in Transfiguration. Some idiot called Lockhart was the only applicant for the Defence position, so he got the spot by default, and definitely not from any level of skill, as he so claimed. Harry was immensely glad that McGonagall would probably end up murdering the fool before the end of the year.

_…_

"Detention with me, I think, Mr Potter," Lockhart beamed.

Harry tried not to glare at the despicable man, really, he did. But his very presence offended him, not to mention every time he opened his mouth he was offering unwelcome advice about fame or whatever.

"Or course, Professor," he grit out through his teeth.

Sasha offered to bite him, but Harry had a better idea.

_…_

"S-snake! There's a snake on your head!" Lockhart choked out.

Indeed there was: a rearing, swaying, hissing grass snake with the magically aided special effects and glowing red eyes and fangs.

Harry made a show of patting his head and forced his face into a mask of confusion before it could betray his amusement.

"Are you quite alright, sir?"

"S-s-s-" Lockhart was rendered incapable of speech. Ah, Sasha must have flapped her wings. They seemed to be made from tendrils of black and red mist and looked absolutely ghastly. Harry was very proud.

"Maybe you should lie down," Harry had the 'concerned student' pretty down pat, "Would you like me to get Madam Pomfrey?"

More unintelligible muttering. Harry took that as a yes.

_"We should keep me like this,"_ Sasha hissed once they left the room and slowed to a dawdle.

Harry cocked an eyebrow and his demonified friend as best he could with the reptile dangling over his forehead, _"No. Bad idea."_

Sasha turned her most mournful expression on him, and he caved, _"Oh, alright, but only until the spells wear off. Let's see if we can give Mrs Norris a heart attack before then."_

"Mr Potter, why are you out so late– what _is_ that?" Snape interrupted himself.

Harry grinned. He got a certain fiendish delight from completely flabbergasting people. Tom was rubbing off on him.

"Nothing. My detention ended early. Oh, that reminds me, someone should probably check on Professor Lockhart, I hear he's feeling under the weather."

"…Twenty points to Slytherin for creative application of charms."

_…_

Lockhart retired before Christmas and Harry gleefully regaled his success to a thoroughly amused Dark Lord and followers at the Malfoy's Yule Ball.

"Remind me to show you how to use a pensieve, Harry, I simply _must_ see that," Tom murmured as he went off to make more of those tedious connections that are a necessary evil if one is planning to take over the world.


	29. Age: 13 and soon to be certifiable

Harry scrunched the letter into a ball and wandlessly set it alight. He was quickly becoming very good at that.

_"I smell burning,"_ Sasha poked her head out of his school bag. _"Dumbledore again?"_

_"Yes, he's all very concerned for my welfare. He tried a new track, this time it was gravely disappointed with a hint of overbearing "it is your destiny". It contained much of the same old stuff, though. Do I know that my parents trusted him to be my magical guardian? Am I aware that my friend Tom happens to be an evil Dark Lord? Would I like an unlimited supply of sherbet lemons? Etcetera."_

_…_

Sirius Black was finally deemed healthy enough to be a fit guardian not long after Harry's thirteenth birthday.

They moved into a flat in London but Harry still spent most of his day at either Malfoy or Riddle Manor. Sirius was a little hesitant over Harry's choice of friends, but made an effort to be a little more diplomatic in his dealings with his cousin for his godson's sake.

Mr Malfoy did not like having Sirius around – anyone could discern the furious tension between those two. Something about a wedding, expensive elvish wine, an octopus and somebody's wand? Harry was a little unclear on the details.

He made the (in hindsight) dubious decision to ask Tom to see if he had any idea. He did. Tom knew the whole story and told it with particular glee to the fiercely blushing teenager. Harry could only blame himself. He should've known when Tom started with "Do I need to give you The Talk?" that it could only go downhill from there.

As it was, he couldn't look at either Lucius or Sirius for weeks after, and he would _never_ look at calamari the same way again.

_…_

Harry wandlessly summoned books at random from across the room while Tom studied at his desk. Tom seemed to sense the books and ducked automatically. Just as well – it was a new rug and bloodstains were cumbersome to extract, even with magic.

Abruptly, Tom's face turned ashen and the air grew heavy as his eyes scanned a passage. If it had been anyone else, Harry would have thought they were beginning to panic, but Tom was a Dark Lord, and aspiring Overlords did not do anything as asinine as panic.

"Harry, I need you to do me a favour."

Harry recognised that tone- the one affectionately referred to in Death Eater circles as the last thing you might ever hear. He straightened, Sasha retreated deep into his robes and the books returned to their shelves immediately.

"Yes, my Lord?" Harry hadn't called Tom that in over a year, yet the words felt very moment appropriate.

"Return to Malfoy Manor, tell Lucius he needs to immediately bring me the diary I left in his care."

Tom watched the boy floo away impatiently. He hadn't realised he'd been _halving_ his soul eat time he split it. Considering he'd probably been fracturing his mind also, it was remarkable he wasn't yet insane. The philosopher stone's doing, no doubt. But that wasn't a permanent solution, no, he needed to absorb some of his larger Horcruxes, and soon.

_…_

Over the school year, Harry made a number of small discoveries. Sasha had a thing for olive green scales, and hippogriffs are definitely _not_ part chicken. Sirius' werewolf friend was teaching Defence and it was ever so interesting to watch him face up to awkward questions from a girl called Luna Lovegood. Also, although Tom was a closet pyromaniac, he did not appreciate having everything flambéed, especially his furniture. On a more positive note, to bribe your godfather to teach you to become an Animagus, all you had to do was solemnly swear to cause trouble with it. Harry anticipated it greatly. Tom considered framing Sirius for some other murder.

It was a slow year.

_…_

Tom Marvolo Riddle rose quickly through the ranks of the smiling cutthroats and backstabbers that are referred to as politicians in polite company. He had a solid, respectable back story; lesser pureblood from Greece, graduated with honours in every subject, a spotless record. (All this and more can be yours for less than 1000 galleons, organised by Gringotts finest in three easy payments for your convenience.)

They saw for themselves how charismatic, intelligent and considerate he was in his every action, and they hung off his every word. He was a model citizen and, as rumour had it, toe-in for replacing that amphibious undersecretary to the Minister in no time at all.

And when Dumbledore said he was an evil Dark Lord, well, he was mad, wasn't he? The Daily Prophet said so. St Mungo's just hadn't determined whether the former headmaster was certifiable as of yet. They would get around to it eventually, but the hospital was a busy with an influx of inexplicable mutilating injuries.


	30. Age: 14 and never threaten Dark Lords

Harry knew Tom had been keeping something from him. Tom was like that; he only ever gave information outright when the person really needed it. Otherwise, he encouraged questions, bargaining, manipulation– anything that worked, as was the Slytherin way.

When Tom couldn't be bothered to conceal it, the occasional flash of his eyes gave it away. Of course, Harry could only garner such things when Tom specifically wanted him to, so for that alone, Harry had been determined not to ask.

He lasted several hours, at least.

"Alright, what is it?" Harry flopped onto the couch, his scowl firmly in place.

"Whatever do you mean?" Tom examined his nails idly and his lips twitched.

"Just tell me, or I will string you from the ceiling," Harry declared gravely. He hadn't tried threats before. It was worth a shot.

Harry soon found himself much further from the ground.

"Your tone is lacking, say it like you really mean it. Add a little creativity, a personal touch, but don't overdo the adjectives. Try again in a few hours."

The cocky bastard didn't even look up. Sasha, safely on the ground, got a good laugh in his expense. Harry endured and plotted his revenge. He wouldn't be able to get the drop on Tom, but anything to pass the time.

_…_

"So… what's the Triwizard Tournament?"

"A school game thought up by a French teacher who evidently did not like children," Tom grinned at Harry's annoyed expression.

"Why are they running it at Hogwarts next year?" Harry specified ever so patently.

"It is a publicity stunt to promote Hogwarts on an international level to make up for the scandal Dumbledore caused. It was Bartemius Crouch's idea."

Harry was surprised to recognise the name of his favourite Dark minion, "The Death Eater?"

"His father, a far less interesting man. Anyway, the Tournament was stopped in 1792 after a cockatrice caused some damage, but apparently the audience, at least, shouldn't be in as much danger this time around," Tom waved an uncaring hand flippantly.

The teen's brain stopped somewhere around _cockatrice_, "That's… that's utterly insane."

"Most definitely. Maybe I'll attend to watch the carnage," Tom considered silently for some time. "The whole thing is ill-timed, but it would only be an utter disaster if the moron representing Hogwarts managed to lose. Can't have that, I may need to post someone in the faculty to help things along. How would you like Barty to teach Defence?"

"Really? That'd be awesome!" Harry decided he did not want to know how Tom was going to manage that.

_…_

Harry put down the Prophet. Just Dumbledore imparting his philosophies again, but it only seemed to be getting through to a small audience. Something the old man kept going on about didn't quiet add up.

"If Dumbledore is Light, why does he put such stock in the emotion of love? For that matter, why don't you believe in love, Tom?"

The man in question sneered, "There are only eight emotions and different degrees of each. The strongest are rage, loathing, grief, amazement, terror, admiration, ecstasy and vigilance.* Love is a _reaction_ to a balance between ecstasy and admiration, it is less powerful than the Light believes, but their idealism focuses on it. Hypocrites."

(*Emotional stuff from Robert Plutchik.)

_…_

Granger was on a crusade. A house-elf crusade. According to the muggleborn, even though the elves adored their posts, they were poor brainwashed, enslaved creatures.

Draco set fire to her badges when she came after him with them. "Ignorant mudblood, she could at least spare us from her stupidity," he muttered furiously to Harry.

_"She means to free the munchkins that make the food? Why would they want that?"_ Sasha had never fully understood human-specific terms, such as slavery. She roughly equated it to cages, but she'd seen the house-elves, and they didn't strike her as creatures looking for an escape.

_"I don't think she's met them," _Harry determined as the likely explanation.

Harry took the time out of his day to drag the bushy haired girl down to the kitchens and introduce her to her cause, but received less than stellar results.

Seemingly blind to the many furious eyes that glared at her, she actually climbed onto a table and tried to spark a house-elf revolt. That was just rude.

Harry stepped in after she said the 's' word, before the little elves could blow a casket.

"Enough, Granger!"

Her frizzy hair seemed to swell in her anger, "How dare you condone slavery? You weren't raised by purebloods, even if they are your friends, you should know better!"

The temperature dropped, the air grew heavy, ice crystals formed on the undersides of the tables. Hermione thought she could hear the boy hissing warningly, almost like a snake, but dismissed that as her imagination.

"Enough of thisss," Harry's voice was far colder that the surroundings, "Let us examine your claim like rational people. Set aside your misconceptions of slavery for a moment, and evaluate the word. Slavery is dehumanising, but these elves are not human, nor do they have any wish to be. Regardless, they are treated well. By calling their actions brainwashed or uneducated, not only does that mock their culture, but it marks you as inexcusably arrogant and implies that you think yours is inherently better."

Harry directed a pointed look over the sea of feverishly nodding heads and continued, "Slavery is involuntary, but they jump at the chance. Working for no pay is technically called _volunteering_."

"And lastly," Harry voice dropped well beyond the zone of sub-zero, "You mentioned how I was not raised by purebloods, not raised with their beliefs. True. That does not make them automatically wrong or out-of-date, just because they are different to you. Do not lecture _me_ about being forced to work involuntarily and for nothing."

Harry may not have gotten completely through to Granger, but he was treated as a hero while she was bodily thrown out.

Hah.

_…_

"Nice work with the Imperious today, I've never had a student throw it off so thoroughly before," Professor Moody, known in certain circles as Barty Crouch, said one day over lunch.

The Professor rubbed his borrowed ribs, doubtlessly bruised from where he'd been knocked back into his desk.

"What can I say? Light magic just makes my skin itch."

On an unrelated note, Harry had finally mastered that wandless banishing charm.

_…_

"Do you have to go so soon?" Harry complained to the man who had become both is mentor and strange kind of friend over the years.

"No," Tom smiled slowly, "Actually, with Dumbledore mercifully absent, I've found myself with an opportunity to catch up with a good friend for the first time in many years."

"Oh?" Harry trotted along beside the Dark Lord, wondering where in the castle they were headed. "Moaning Myrtle's bathroom?"

"She's still here, is she?" Tom didn't sound like he particularly cared.

_"Open,"_ Tom grinned at the awe openly displayed on Harry's face.

"This is Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets. His familiar, an ancient basilisk, is a remarkable conversationalist. She was a dear friend while I was at school," said Tom with almost childlike excitement in his eyes.

_…_

"Anyone have a date for the Yule Ball, yet?" Draco, lounging in the fourth year Slytherin dormitory, asked around.

"Daphne and I are going together," Theodore replied.

Greg revealed he had a date with a younger Slytherin, but Vince, Blaise and Harry balked at the prospect of tracking down a girl to ask.

"I'm going stag. Can't take the goods off the market." Blaise managed to make lounging look regal.

"I'll ask Luna Lovegood." Harry allowed a small grin to show at their obvious surprise.

He hoped she'd accepted; she could always be depended on to provide interesting company. It'd been a while since he'd helped her search for flufturts under the House tables, so there was much fun to be caught up on.


	31. Age: 15 and there's a bit of a mess

The History of Magic test was probably one of the dullest things he'd sat through, Sasha's lecture on mouse swallowing not included.

Harry jotted down another answer, masterfully resisting his desire to answer sarcastically.

Suddenly, he felt a prickle in the back of his mind and his magic stirred, which was strange, as he certainly hadn't called upon it. He sunk into a light meditative trance to see that his core was behaving oddly. Upon closer evaluation, he noticed that the dark spot was rousing.

_'Honestly, Potter, your mindscape is a mess.'_ Mild, haughty tones reverberated through his skull.

Harry jumped slightly, _'Tom? What the hell are you doing in my head?'_

_'Oh, just testing a theory.'_ Harry got a strange impression of the alien consciousness carelessly ruffling through his thoughts.

Irritably, he said, _'Could you test it some other time, I'm in the middle of something, here.'_

_'You could do that exam in your sleep,'_ Tom responded casually, _'but the answer to 5 is Urg the Unclean, not Oswald the Oblivious– that would be Fudge.'_

Harry conceded that his time could be better spent. _'Have you worked out the answer to you theory yet?'_

_'Perhaps.' _

Harry took that as a no. Tom wasn't one to share his thoughts until he was sure of them, but once he had worked out an answer, he had a tendency to brag.

Moments after Harry's unspoken scepticism, a brief feeling of mischief was his only warning before his imagination was lit up with memories that weren't his own.

_'Urg! Tom, I can't un-see that!'_

Despite the amusement dancing around the edges, Tom's mental voice was very clinical.

_'How interesting. Memory transmission is a success and embellishments are possible. Well, I will leave you to your… invigorating exam. Good luck, Harry.'_ Tom purred evilly.

A fierce blush practically scalded his cheeks as fractions of Tom's gifted memories kept resurfacing. He couldn't manage to focus much after that. Damn evil Dark Lords.

_…_

"Hello, Harry. You have quite a wrackspurt infestation."

"Good morning, Luna. What's a wrackspurt?"

"Something that floats around in your head and makes your brain go all fuzzy."

"Oh him. Yeah, he's a butthead."

_'Watch it, Potter.'_

"That's good. You wouldn't want the nargles to infiltrate your brain," she said seriously. He agreed; he didn't want Dumbledore anywhere near him.

_'So this is the girl in your life. You should let her know that if she hurts you, she and I are going to have… words.'_

"I understand perfectly, Lord Wrackspurt. I hope you know that if you hurt him the wiggles will inflict an awkward silence on you."

Harry watched Luna skip away, very entertained to feel faint tendrils of bewilderment from Tom. _'Did she just threaten me?'_

_'Quite possibly.' _

_'I like her.'_

_…_

"I believe I have found the answer to my theory."

Trepidation. Oh, this couldn't be good. Harry sat heavily opposite. "Alright, hit me with it."

Tom did, and for the first time in a long while, Harry was forcibly reminded that the handsome man was a mass murdering terror. He explained what a Horcux was and the ideas behind it.

Harry was horrified, "You broke your _soul!_ Willingly! Tom… that's– that's…"

The Dark Lord felt his age. "I wasn't aware that it divided my soul in half each time, nor that it would render my mind, magic and being unstable. My actions were… rash."

"_Each?_ Just how many times did you–wait, I don't want to know." Harry was incredulous. Tom didn't seem to comprehend how heinous his actions were; he only regretted that they disadvantaged him. This, Harry was used to; Tom didn't see things the way most people did, but to forcibly rip apart a _soul_ and lock it away…

But Tom wasn't done. "The night I tried to kill you, when the curse rebounded it tore my soul again, and the part that wasn't floating around as me latched onto you."

Silence. Tom found he was actually anxious for the boy's reaction.

"I… I need a moment to process this."

Tom watched him leave on shaky legs. There was a tightening in his chest – the beginning of what could have been sorrow.

He pondered this. His liking of the boy… it wasn't just because Harry could put up with his admittedly strange personality.

Harry's company wasn't just another thing to be endured.

_…_

_'How are you holding up?'_

Tom was momentarily surprised, though he told himself it was not due to Harry's concern, rather, because it was the first time Harry had accessed the connection since That Talk. _'I am just fine. Why wouldn't I be?'_

_'I don't know,'_ Harry deadpanned, '_Maybe because you're juggling three high profile jobs simultaneously. Being undersecretary to the Minister, Education Inquisitor and the manager of a volatile evil scheme for world domination must be exhausting.'_

_'You think these trivialities are beyond me?'_

Harry knew better than to heed the warning tone. _'Not at all. I merely mean to say that I found a passage that leads right into Hogsmeade, and you need a break. Say, if I had adult supervision–'_

_'Harry, as a figure of authority, you must know I cannot advocate such violation of the rules.'_ Tom was practically emulating McGonagall.

_'So… the Three Broomsticks in an hour?'_

_…_

The Light wasn't exactly ecstatic with the government. Fudge was pliable –practically putty in the face of the combined efforts of Tom and Lucius– and, slowly, the Dark was brought out of the shadows.

It started in schools, as all successful upheavals do. By the beginning of July, the British Wizarding curriculum had revised. Several teachers were permanently replaced, including Binns, and Tom-approved individuals were appointed. The Dark controlled History, so it more or less controlled how it was thought about.

Society wasn't quite ready for Wandless magic to be reinstated as a subject, to Harry's great disappointment, but Theoretical Dark Arts had its old syllabus dusted off with much less trouble.

Divination was phased out, Muggle Studies was rewritten entirely, removing large portions, such as the unit on dishwashers, until it largely focused on the dangers of technology and how to avoid being hurt. Harry was astounded to discover just how many people weren't aware that electrical plugs could actually be dangerous, or didn't know what a gun was– at best they only equated it to something like a wand.

Harry prayed that Tom would be, for once, proven wrong. If Tom was right, if the muggles reacted violently to their existence, then wizards wouldn't stand a chance.


	32. Age: 16 and the Dark takes root

_Dumbledore,_

_Kindly stop harassing me with owls and take a hint: I am not, nor will ever be, the Saviour you envision. I am a free man, and despite your heartfelt belief to the contrary, I am actually allowed to come to my own decisions, however far from your own they may be. _

_Devoting my life to the "greater good" should be a personal choice, one not to be taken lightly. The fact that you would take this choice away from me says a lot about your character. You should re-evaluate your "ends justify the means" policy if you intend to continue claiming the moral high ground. _

_What you and the rest of the public do not care to realise is that I'm a child– merely 16 years old. Why should you all be my responsibility, especially if I don't care for it? You're a grown man, do it yourself, I welcome you to try._

_For the last time, I do not care if my parents kissed the ground you walked on or if the world as we know it will burn if I do not do the same: I will not be a martyr, a public scapegoat or a hero. Not. Interested. _

_If you continue to annoy me in this manner, you will see exactly what a student of Tom Riddle is capable of. _

_Harry so-not-your-boy Potter_

_…_

At Malfoy Manor, it was a time for great celebration, and not just because 1996 would give way to 1997 in less than a minute. No, they celebrated because Fudge's term as Minister had finally expired and the political power had decisively shifted towards the Dark.

Harry was not a fan of crowds. He hated them with a fiery passion, in fact, and this caused him to all but bodily remove people from his path in his impatience. He managed to make it into the gardens and into the blessedly open air, but only after barely averting some mild disasters.

"Stressed, Harry?"

Startled, he spun to face the figure behind him, magic dancing at his fingertips. That confident posture, the dark hair, those high cheek bones were distinctive of one person in particular, and Harry relaxed.

"Happy birthday, Minister. I apologise, but I found myself unable to make your acquaintance earlier this evening, 'twas most tardy of me." Harry bowed extravagantly once the man drew level with him.

Tom swatted his head, but any irritation in the gesture was negated when his arm continued its movement and made the smooth transition to sit around the boy's shoulders.

Boy-who-lived and Dark Lord. Two utterly different people, yet similar in crucial ways. Brothers in all but blood.

_…_

Hogwarts swarmed with gossip. Imagine, the Boy-who-lived, revealed to be a parselmouth! The fickle population all but turned on him overnight. Apparently his ability just confirmed what everyone swore they'd known since he was placed in Slytherin – that he would be the next Dark Lord.

Harry was amused. He shrugged off the fearful gazes and Sasha dealt with the more physical students.

The revelation had been planned. Sasha was just about fully grown, and no matter how voluminous the robes, it was very difficult to conceal a 6 foot reptile. Now, though, snakes, lizards and bats had been added to Hogwarts' list of acceptable pets, and he could carry her openly.

With Tom controlling the media, and the more reputable journalists 'encouraged' to point out his positive attributes, his public standing recovered after a week. Parseltongue hesitantly left the category of utmost evilness.

By the end of the year, Light didn't necessarily mean good. The Dark had taken root.


	33. Age: 17 and where to start?

Sasha sensed something fishy; something made her scales itch and staled her tongue. She refused to let her human out of her sight, and just as well, for the Old Man found them in the Smelly Alley that afternoon.

They had successfully avoided him for years. It was unfortunate that he had caught up with them now. The snake was firmly of the opinion that predators were only to be confronted when back into a corner – especially the unpredictable, senile kind.

Old Man had not aged well. He was trying to convince P.T. to join his organisation and become another well trained bird.

Sasha did not pay attention to the words, but another language entirely. Old Man was tense, his fingers twitched in his pocket, his eyes were sharp. He pulled P.T. aside and crowded his personal space. Sasha did not take her eyes off him, not even to peer over her human's shoulder to yell for the Lord Speaker. She hoped he would arrive soon, though the friendly crowds would likely make that difficult.

Then Old Man said something that went too far, she could tell by how P.T. tensed and snarled. He'd said something about her human's nest-mother. Sasha could not fathom the attachment the humans had with their nest-mothers, but understood that having the audacity to imply that they would regret their sacrifice was not a very nice thing to say.

That counted as an attack. Or perhaps it was merely an excuse; she'd been waiting to bite him for many seasons. She nailed him right on the nose. It turned out to have been a good course of action, because the aggressor flinched violently and quickly back away, while her human found it humorous and scratched her head.

The Lord Speaker arrived in time, and the Old Man was driven off with jeers, but more importantly, Sasha was treated to an extra-large goldfish when they returned to the Speaker's den. Yummy.

_…_

"Well, well. Graduation at last. Will you take a look at Snape? He looks glad to be rid of us, I'd say."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Oh, don't be so dramatic, Draco. He always looks like that."

In truth, Harry was excited. With school over, he suddenly found himself with a lot of free time and not much of an inclination to find a job just yet. It wasn't as if he was hard pressed for cash; he had access to all Potter funds, now. To top it all, after weaving some tale about making international contacts, Draco had Lucius's blessing to set out for the mainland.

The whole world was open to them. Really, they didn't know where to start.

"Ever been to Lithuania?"


	34. Age: 19 and so on, so forth

It was too soon. They weren't ready.

It only took one– a European fugitive lost in Australia and cornered by aurors. Magic wasn't enough, social media was simply faster.

Technical experts declared the footage and pictures genuine, but when the bewildered scientists could not find a rational explanation, they found that the witnesses remembered nothing, not even taking the pictures that they'd posted.

It so happened that at the time, the popularity of the Australian Prime Minister was in shambles, and in the age-old bid for more support, he gave the public something to hate besides his halfwit policies.

The media had a field day; there had been a secret society hidden from view in each major city and not only that, but they evidently had the ability to wipe memories! The Obliviations were the last straw.

There was instant uproar as, across the world, governments bowed to public pressure and admitted the existence of magic.

Once it was in the open, the secrets came spilling out. Tom blamed squibs, muggleborns and their families, and he did so very bitterly. The legislation to remove muggleborns from their families at birth and completely exclude squibs was even met with approval from the frightened masses, but it did not stop the problems from reaching Britain.

They were very interested with what they found. Wizards had longer life spans, their bodies weren't afflicted by things such as cancer or the flu, the creatures from their fairy tales were real. But it was the magic that interested them the most, especially the bad parts; they could kill with a word, control minds, teleport, turn invisible. When these powers were in stories they were fanciful, but upon emergence into reality, the possibilities were terrifying.

Suffice to say Harry's world tour ended early.

_…_

Curiosity and compassion saved them for a while, but not for long. Fanatics spread their fear to others, until they began to instate protective measures.

Soon, technology worked against the runes that kept their civilisation hidden. Dangerous creatures were found and rounded up. Once the army took special interest in dragon hide, the dragon population was decimated in mere weeks. Unicorns were next; the healing properties of their blood outweighed their aesthetic beauty, though some were kept in zoos.

Tom was furious, Harry watched him pace back and forth like a caged lion. As Minister, he faced the infuriating muggle governments more than most. The higher ups were under the Imperius, but their assurance did little to calm the agitated populous.

Magic could accomplish almost anything, each magical being was a potential one-man army. Logically, magic should outnumber mundane, but it didn't because unlike the muggles, magical races were divided –wizards against goblins, werewolves against vampires– the small warring factions kept the population limited. Tom had made headway, but would it be enough? There were seven billion muggles. Mages were outnumbered thirty-five thousand to one, not to mention that they'd be pitting an undereducated generation against increasingly proficient atomic weapons.

Harry knew exactly what Tom was thinking; he'd been contemplating their options himself.

"Have they breached notice-me-not charms yet?" Harry asked.

"Not yet, just the invisibility."

"We could try plan D."

Tom looked sharply. "That depends on you. Did you find the Egyptian formula?"

Harry briefly inclined his head proudly. "I did. But losing a country is slightly different to losing you way in a pyramid."

"Not if we couple it with long reaching notice-me-not charms. They'd have to be formulated in runes, unfortunately. But that would solve the annoying technology issue– the country would not literally disappear off the map, their minds would just refuse to process it."

This was sounding more plausible by the minute. A spark of hope briefly flared. "How long before it comes to war?"

Tom ran a hand through his hair, rolling his wand in agitation. "Not long at all. Muggleborns in America are disappearing."

Harry felt a chill of fear. He knew that 'disappear' was politician speak for 'killed' or 'experimented upon'. For their sake, Harry hoped they were just being killed.

_…_

Within three years of discovery, the muggles wanted every magician registered. When that was met with noncompliance, the first guns were fired. Seven thousand were lost at the Quidditch cup, either dead or missing.

The wizarding world rallied behind Tom's leadership. He bargained with goblins, drank with vampires, debated with centaurs, and ruled over the wizards with their utmost support. His charisma and political skill coupled with the unprecedented target, the muggle threat, saw Tom unite every sentient magical being behind him. He was their saviour, and wasn't _that_ ironic.

It was a small, material concession to return all Goblin-made artefacts in exchange from their help warding the border of the vast island. They worked cheap, all things considered, probably because their kind had been subject to more suspicion and hate from the muggles than they ever received from the magical community.

By Christmas it was as if Britain had never existed.

The external threat was neutralised for the time being. As for the muggles trapped inside, well… they either left or the Dementors enjoyed themselves.

In other places, the violence worsened. It was the witch hunts all over again, but without the burning aspect– that would be cruel. No, far more humane to gas their hideouts en mas. Fear proved a sound motivator to turn a blind eye to the horrors of modern history apparently.

The offer was sent out and refugees came in swarms. It seemed that the entirety of the world's magical population wanted to use the long distance floo at once.

While specialists rescued the stolen magical people and creatures, and brought them to Britain, Harry made a name for himself. Admittedly, he didn't keep up with what they were calling him these days, but since he had tendency to take Slytherin's basilisk through scientific laboratories and liberate the people held there, he figured that it probably contained an obscene number of hyphens.

Speaking of… Intelligence had owled in a new location. Hopefully Tom would remember to tell the colossal reptile to stop referring to him as a mobile snack.

_…_

_"It's over, Sasha. The muggles think they've gotten us all. We'll fade into history, then into myth again." _Harry petted Sasha idly.

"It's already begun," Tom interrupted, letting himself in unannounced, as usual. "Their history has them puzzled. For their stories to make sense, there should be a large landmass west of Europe. They're dismissing it as an anomaly. Funny that."

Harry snorted in response, then folded the paper on his lap. "The Prophet seems to think you're retiring."

"Oh yes, it has been on my mind for a while. It turns out the insistent paperwork adds a great dampener to the post of a dictator."

"Don't you have frightened minions for exactly that purpose?"

"That would require a higher grade of minion. Their incompetence irks me."

"Maybe if you would accept that not everyone can do things to your standard–"

"You manage," Tom interrupted.

"I'm special." Harry grinned. "But why retire now, of all times? Things are just beginning to settle down."

"That is exactly why– peace is so tragically boring. But Lucius is as capable a minion as they come. He can keep the world going the way it should. Besides, it has occurred to me that this situation sounds oddly familiar. Recall Atlantis, the island that sank into the sea when it came under attack?"

"Oh?" Harry sat straighter, suddenly very interested. "When do we leave?"

"Before the imbeciles find a kitten that cannot _possibly_ be rescued without my own personal intervention." Tom rolled his eyes theatrically, but it wasn't much of an exaggeration.

"So, I'm just your idiot buffer?"

"Yes."

"Aw, Tom. Don't say such things, I may get the wrong idea and imagine that you actually enjoy my company."

"You _are_ insufferable." As if this was some grand revelation.

"Utterly unbearable," Harry agreed.

Sasha sighed, _"If you continue on this way, I will only wait for the Lord Speaker to curse you before I take an eye out."_

_…_

**Finished**

**I want to thank everyone who has stuck with this, those who've clicked that review, favourite or follow button. Your support and encouragement makes it a pleasure to write, your feedback makes me better.**

**The last chapter in particular sparked the little pesky muse in my head. It's now screaming at me that I should write a story about muggles finding magic before Harry's fourth year. Magic will not survive unless the impossible can be achieved: unity. But who better to try than the great symbol, Harry Potter?**

**So… thoughts? Opinions? Hopes that I will vanish off the face of the Earth?**

**Note 27/12/13: the prologue for that story, Bound Together, has now been posted.**


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